To Leave This World
by kitcat234
Summary: As a 1st year healer in the Spell Damage ward, Hermione already has a lot on her hands, but when a new patient checks himself in with an unusual problem, she seems to have met her greatest challenge. Will she be the one to heal him when nothing else has?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Here's the first chapter of my new story! Let me know what you think! Not Rowling.

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_George dear, _

_I saw this in the Quibbler in the quotes section and I thought it was marvelous. It made me think of you. I love you very much. I do hope to see you this Sunday for dinner._

_Mum_

Success

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

To laugh often and much;

to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;

to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;

to appreciate beauty;

to find the best in others;

to leave this world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition;

to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.

This is to have succeeded.

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><p><em>The Daily Prophet<em>

_WWW Taking Over! _

_When Weasley's Wizard Wheezes opened its doors for the first time, it was clear they were going to be a success, but no one imagined that its popularity would soar to such meteoric proportions. The fact that they were one of the few businesses to survive the War was impressive enough, but in the year since, they have expanded immensely. Zonko's Joke Shop, having closed its doors during the War, has now waved the white flag of defeat and merged with WWW in an unparalleled corporate move. New stores open in Hogsmeade, Edinburg, and Dublin have been welcomed with open arms and full registers, and a new store is rumored to be opening in Paris soon. Will WWW take the continental Europe by storm? Only time will tell, but we're betting it will be a smashing success._

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><p>As the chilly September night breeze ruffled his hair, he looked down at the city below him, dazzling and jewel bright, the lights of thousands of buildings and houses flickering, lighting up the night sky. Cars as small as ants zoomed this way and that, their lights speeding around, forming bright yellow and red snakes that twisted and turned through the city, trying to swallow it whole. The cacophony of the busy city was muffled from this height. Instead, a penetrating, almost tangible silence took its place, piercing George like a knife. He stood on the top of the gilded rail that protected the levels of St. Stephen's Tower, holding on to the decorative post. He looked up and saw the rest of the tower, only about two stories above him. He had been tempted to go to the absolute top and hold on to what he believed was a kind of weathervane, but he had decided against it. He felt the building shake slightly as the bell just above him began to chime.<p>

_Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong._

So it was midnight. How apt. It was midnight, the time when everyone should be asleep, safe in their beds, maybe with loved ones, maybe all alone, but yet life went on. There were still people driving determinedly from one place to the next, still lights on as people burned the midnight oil. He thought about the pain of this past year, the year since he lost his brother. He had never imagined life without Fred until he was taken from him. They had always been two halves of one whole, one cohesive unit of mischief and laughter. He remembered that night, and he knew he always would. It haunted him in his dreams. Seeing the wall explode without knowing why he would remember it for the rest of his life. Hearing Fred's laughter suddenly stop. Rushing to Percy's side to pull away the rubble. Seeing Fred, his last laugh still etched in his face, his bright blue eyes wide and unseeing, reflecting the red and green lights that danced across the night sky from where it was visible through a hole in the ceiling.

He squeezed his eyes shut. No matter how many times this scene replayed in his mind, no matter how often his brother's face loomed before his eyes, no matter how many times he looked around corners and turned as the sound of a _crack!_, he was not there. He would never be there again. And it never got better. It never ceased to pierce his heart, to make his blood run cold, to wound every inch of his soul.

He looked down at the city below, so far, far below. A sudden gust of wind buffeted him, and he felt one of his feet slip off the railing. A paralyzing, all consuming fear ran through his body, setting his every nerve on fire, freezing his heart in one millisecond. He grabbed onto the pole next to him, clutching it, his knuckles turning white. He slowly pulled his foot back up and set it once again on the railing. He breathed a deep, shaky breath. _Well, this is a sad excuse for bravery._ As he looked down on the city, Lilliputian from his perch, another thought flashed across his mind. _Was this bravery? Or was this cowardice at its finest?_

…

George walked into the doors of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries and walked up to the Welcome Witch at the Inquiries desk, who was nodding off, her frizzy, gray-haired head drooping over her copy of Witch Weekly, on which a brunette witch was smiling toothily and holding a large fruitcake on a platter. He coughed to get her attention. The witch slept on. He coughed louder. She finally woke, looking around confusedly before seeing him.

"Yes, how can I help you, son?"

"I'd like to check myself in."

She blinked at him for a moment, unsure of what to make of this. "And why's that, dear?"

George thought quickly, trying to come up with how best to handle this situation. His eyes flicked to the map next to the witch.

_Ground Floor – Reception and Artefact Accidents_

_First Floor – Creature-Induced Injuries_

_Second Floor – Magical Bugs and Diseases_

_Third Floor – Potions and Plant Poisoning_

_Fourth Floor – Spell Damage_

_Fifth Floor – Visitors' Tearoom and Hospital Shop_

He smiled at her sweetly and asked, "Who are you?" Her head tilted to the side, confused.

"I'm Healer Grant, the Welcome Witch for St. Mungo's."

He nodded for a second, as if processing this imformation, then asked, in the same confused tone, "Who am I?"

She looked at him for a second, a look of dawning comprehension replacing the confusion and exhaustion on her face. "Do you know who you are, sir?" He shook his head, the same sweet smile on his face. "Do you know where you are?"

"With Healer Grant, the Welcome Witch for St. Mungo's."

"Do you know where that is?"

"Well, here apparently, though I don't really know where 'here' is. It's quite pretty though, all white and shiny. Is it hard to keep everything so white and shiny?"

"It is very pretty, now do you have any memories of what happened before you got here?"

George pretended to concentrate, staring off into the middle distance with squinted eyes, his brow furrowed as if thinking hard. "I remember waking up next to an ugly old building called Purge and Dowse, Limited. The mannequins were creepy." He smiled at her again, the innocent smile of a young child.

"Alrighty dear, you stay right here and wait while I get someone to pick you up." She turned, and wrote a note quickly, sending it off flying to anther floor while muttering, "Left him in the street, how simply awful."

He stood, smiling blandly and staring around aimlessly. A young woman, petite, blonde, and brown-eyed, probably just out of Hogwarts last June, came hurrying up in a white outfit with a lime green stripe down her sleeves. 'She's a healer-in-training,' George thought to himself. "Yes, Healer Grant?" she asked, her voice, like her stature, was small and unpretentious, pleasant to the ear but not remarkable or memorable by any means.

"Yes, this man seems to have had his memory modified. Could you bring him up to Spell Damage? Just put him in a room and I'll send a memo to one of the healers to come check him and see if he needs to be transferred to the Janus Thickey Ward. Thank you, dear."

The nurse nodded her head, obviously processing her instructions, before turning to George. "If you could follow me, sir, we'll take good care of you." She smiled warmly at him and gestured to him as she began to walk, silently asking him to stand by her side. George could see now why this unassuming girl wanted to be a healer. She had a kind face, a sweet disposition, and immediately made you feel safe, taken care of. He followed her to the special lifts reserved for patients and they headed up to the fourth floor. She led him to the front desk of this ward and quietly asked the older man sitting there for a vacant room. After a quick, hushed conversation, George was led through a set of double doors, down a hallway, and into a small room, whose lights turned on as soon as they walked through the door. "If you could wait here, sir, a healer will be with you soon." She smiled at him and walked out, closing the door behind her.

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><p>Hermione was exhausted. She had been working almost 24 hour shifts as a transfer to her new position. She was thrilled to have been promoted so quickly after getting accepted to the training program and completing it successfully, but it came at a heavy price. She yawned and looked over the paperwork that sat on her impossibly small desk. She sighed. 'Who knew healers had to do so much paperwork?' she thought grumpily to herself. She was just starting to re-read the sentence that she had read four times already without taking in a word of it, when a pink memo zoomed in and landed on her desk. She opened it to see a quick note from Healer Grant downstairs.<p>

_Healer Granger, we have a patient that came in about five minutes ago that says he can't remember anything. We are not sure if this is permanent spell damage from a memory charm or if it is something of a lesser degree. As you are the only healer for Spell Damage on call currently, could you go check him over so we know where to place him when the morning shift comes in? He will be in Examination Room 7._

_Thanks._

Hermione sighed again and rubbed her eyes. 'Well, at least it's a chance to move around.' She stood and headed towards the examination rooms. She passed through the double doors just in time to see a trainee closing the door to Room 7. Hermione hurried forward to catch her attention. "Rose!" she called quietly. The blonde girl turned around and smiled.

"Oh hello, Hermione! Are you the only one on call tonight? I thought you were on the midnight shift last night."

"I was," she said, raising her eyebrows and taking a deep breath, as if expressing all her exhaustion and frustration in these two silent movements. Rose nodded understandingly.

"I can't believe they're working us so hard! Well, I suppose you're here to check on the new patient?" she asked, gesturing to the closed door.

"Yeah, can I see his chart?" Rose pulled it from the holder on the door and handed it to Hermione. She flipped through the two pages of scant notes. "So no name, no information, claiming to have lost his memory, no visible trauma."

"And he's cute too. I mean, _really_ cute." Rose grinned somewhat guiltily.

"Yeah?" asked Hermione, biting her lip as she smiled slightly.

"Yeah. He seems a couple years older than you and he's tall with these gorgeous blue eyes."

Hermione grinned at her coworker. "Been checking out the patients, have you?"

Rose grinned back, looking slightly ashamed. 'Well, not usually but this one…" She took a deep breath that seemed to communicate the rest of her point.

"That cute?"

"_That_ cute."

"Wow, well make sure to keep your professional bedside manner," said Hermione with a wink, moving towards the door.

"Only if you do," Rose shot back. Hermione laughed and opened the door, her eyes once again on the paperwork.

"Good evening, sir, or should I say good morning? So what seems to be the problem today?" she asked, making sure her voice sounded as happy and kind as possible.

"HERMIONE?" a familiar, mellifluous voice asked incredulously. Her head wrenched up from her papers and her eyes connected with a pair of familiar blue ones.

"GEORGE?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** A new chapter for my new story! I know it's quite different from my last two stories but I quite like it. Let me know what you think! Not Rowling.

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"HERMIONE?" a familiar, mellifluous voice asked incredulously. Her head wrenched up from her papers and her eyes connected with a pair of familiar blue ones.

"GEORGE?" She stared at him and he stared right back, shock registering on both their faces.

"You're my patient?" she cried at the exact time he cried, "You're the healer?" They stared at each other. Her eyes flicked down to the folder in her hand, which she quickly raised to read.

"Wait…you're supposed to not have your memory." She looked up at him, a suspicious look on her face.

"That is correct."

"But you remembered my name."

"That is also correct." She stared at him and he suddenly blushed a little under her scrutiny. She recognized the look on his face. It was the guilty look he and Fred had always assumed when their mother had caught them at something. No matter how old he was, he always looked a bit like scared little boy when he was cornered.

"Then why are you here?" she asked slowly. He stopped looking at her and focused his suddenly wide eyes on the floor instead. From where she was standing, she could now only see the top of his head. She walked forward and, proper bedside manner be damned, raised his chin gently with her fingers, yet he still refused to look at her. "George?" He continued to look at the floor, trying to remove his face from her grasp. "George," she said sternly, her hand still forcing his face up. He finally looked at her and she saw that his face had lost all its color, his freckles standing out against his white face, his blue eyes shocking against the pale canvas. "What is it?" she asked quietly, thankful for the first time that she was the only doctor on call. He mumbled something but she missed it. "What?"

He took in a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "I've been thinking about killing myself," he said quietly. A sort of rushing noise filled her ears as she watched him, his words still processing through a brain that was suddenly about as quick as cold molasses.

…

It was an odd sensation to finally say it out loud. Although he had been thinking about it for quite a while now, he had never said it out loud. He supposed it was a lot more real and terrifying if he said it aloud. He saw her face grow pale and her eyes widen as her hand fell from his face, as if she had forgotten to keep it outstretched.

"Excuse me?" she asked weakly.

"I've been thinking about killing myself," he repeated in a hollow voice.

"And you're here because…" She trailed off, watching him nervously.

"Because I keep almost doing it and stopping myself and I want to make sure someone makes sure I don't," he said quietly, hanging his head.

"But what about your mum or-"

"I can't, Hermione. I can't tell her this. I can't tell the family. I can't do this to them. It's still hard enough without Fred." He started to choke up and immediately stopped talking, trying to maintain his composure as best as possible.

"Is that why you haven't done it?" He looked up at her from his perch on the examination table, confused. "You haven't because you realize it's hard enough with one of you gone, so both of you would just be so much worse. Is that right?" She smiled at him, a little sadly. His brow wrinkled as he thought about this. He had never actually thought about what had made him stop each time; he just had. What she said made perfect sense though. He raised his head and looked at her, watched her, his eyes searching her face. He hadn't seen her in over six months. Almost a year, actually. He knew she had gotten into Healer Training early, as they had thrown a little celebration for her at the Burrow, but after that, she seemed to have disappeared, fallen completely off the face of the earth. He was sure she still corresponded with Harry, Ron, and Ginny constantly, but as he spent most of his time at work or in his dark apartment, he wasn't privy to any of this information.

"Why haven't you been around to the Burrow this past year?"

"Is that why you're stopping yourself?"

"Answer my question."

"Answer mine." His eyes scanned her face, seeing the determination in her expression, her arms crossed as she leaned against the counter opposite him, her jaw set, her mouth a thin line. She came off thoroughly imposing and serious, but her eyes told a different story. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, a look of sadness mingled with fear present in her eyes. He sighed.

"I've never actually thought consciously about why I keep stopping myself, but your theory makes sense. Quite a bit of sense, actually."

She nodded, processing this information. "I've been so bogged down with getting out of the program early, and when I did, I worked night and day to get out of the crappy position I was in as the newcomer," she answered quietly, their roles now switched as she stared at the ground and he watched her. "I've worked really hard to get here and this is my third 24 hour shift this week, but I don't care, because I'm fighting to prove I can do what the other healers do and just as well. Being the supposed 'brightest witch of our age' doesn't mean anything here – it's prove yourself or go home."

"But you wouldn't be happy if they just handed it to you, would you?" She smiled wryly and finally looked up at him.

"For never having been my friend at school, you seem to understand me quite well."

"Well, I wouldn't say that," he said with a small grin. "I think they're probably a lot that people don't understand about you, me included. You might not be a complete bookworm chastising pranksters all the time, but anyone who knew you would know you're a fighter."

…

She smiled at him, tilting her head, her clear brown eyes scanning his face. Maybe he was right. He probably had hidden depths as well; fears, anger, and sadness buried under the mask of smiles and laughter he always wore. Those bright blue eyes were old beyond their years and told of all the death he had seen and all the sadness he had felt. That smile, though ever-present, sometimes looked rather forced and failed to reach his eyes.

"George, why did you come here?" Although she thought she knew the answer, she wanted to hear it from him.

"Because I can't do this to my family."

"Why did you fake being obliviated?"

"Because I thought it was the best way to get to someone who knew more than magic. Someone who knew about people."

"What do you think Fred would have said about your suicide attempts?"

He froze and stared at her and as he did so, Hermione saw the mask fall off. She saw the true George, exposed and raw; sadness, loss, fear, and agony etched on his face. He raised his eyes to hers, looking thoroughly wounded, and replied in a whisper, "I think he's what's stopping me. I think he wants me to be brave for him." His shoulders shook as a shuddering sob overwhelmed him before he could stop it. Without thinking about protocol, without thinking about proper bedside manner, without thinking of the separation between the patient and his healer, she walked forward and opened her arms, enveloping him in a tight hug. She felt his arms slowly loop around her waist, his body shaking as he tried to hold back tears. She stood there and held his shoulders, his face buried in her shoulder, and finally realized why he was here, even if he himself didn't fully know. He didn't need a healer, he didn't even need a therapist; he needed a friend, someone close enough that he could express his honest feelings to yet far enough removed from the picture that they would not judge him or coddle him or reprimand him for having such thoughts.

About five minutes later, the silent sobs that wracked his body ceased and she heard him sniff quietly. "You okay?" she whispered. She heard a watery chuckle next to her ear.

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

She chuckled. "I suppose. Well, instead, how are you feeling?"

"Raw," he said simply, and she backed up slightly so as to see the wry smile on his face. "Admitting the truth is a lot harder than pretending to have no memory." His hands slipped from her waist and she backed up, her arms dropping to her sides. "It would probably be a lot easier without my memory, a lot less painful." She watched as the smile slowly slid off his face, leaving him as he was inside, old beyond his years, sadder than any person should be, and completely lost.

"How about this? I write down that you were confunded rather than had your memory wiped, but that you need further study. I'll go to the healer in charge of this ward tomorrow morning and explain everything. Hopefully, she will understand and allow you to stay here. That's all we can hope for at," she checked her watch, "one in the morning." She turned to write everything down on his chart. She looked up a moment later, not having heard a response of any kind. He was smiling at her, a soft smile that seemed to turn down slightly at the edges, a smile that came from the midst of his sadness.

"Thank you, Hermione, for understanding" he said softly. She smiled back.

"Thank you for telling me," she replied.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** I know this is way different from my other fics, so let me know what you think! Not Rowling!

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"So he feels he needs supervision, but it afraid that it may be not simply talking to a friend, but rather getting psychological help," finished Hermione, trying to emphasize the gravity of the situation to her superior without sounding too attached to the case or overdramatic. The older gentleman made a noise of assent in his throat as he looked over the notes she had meticulously written in George's file once she had left his room earlier this morning.

"So, patient's having suicidal tendencies, but doesn't want to kill himself and subsequently hurt his family," the healer asked, although it sounded more like a statement of fact to Hermione.

"Yes sir."

"And who is this patient again?"

"George Weasley." The healer's eyes widened.

"George Weasley as in one of the founders of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?"

"Yes sir, he and his twin, Fred, opened it, but Fred was killed during the war."

"Yes, yes, so I heard, sad business, very sad," he muttered vaguely as he went through the chart again. "And you're relation to the patient is…?"

"No relation, sir."

"But you know him, quite well it seems." He looked her over the tops of his spectacles, his eyes scanning her face. She felt momentarily uncomfortable, as if he was reading her rather than simply seeing her.

"I went to school with him. I am a good friend of the family. His younger brother Ron is one of my best friends."

"Ah yes, Ronald Weasley. I am familiar. So…hmmm…" He stroked his moustache, looking over the file once more before closing it with a sense of finality and looking up at her, a serious expression on his face. Hermione didn't know what to expect, but was praying that he wouldn't throw George out the door. "Miss Granger." She nodded slightly, not sure what kind of reaction he was expecting from simply having said her name. "I understand that you are new to the Spell Damage Ward, but so far you have proved yourself capable of handling difficult cases."

"Thank you, sir."

"I understand the gravity of this situation, and I think it would go against everything this hospital stands for if we refused to help an ailing person, whether it be in mind or body. Therefore, I will be assigning this case to you and you alone. As this case will most likely require a psychological study and constant attention, you will still have other cases in the ward, but your load will be lessened somewhat." She nodded, trying to suppress her smile at the knowledge that they would be helping George. "This opportunity is two-fold, Miss Granger. I expect you to keep up your efficiency and aid to the patients residing in and entering into our ward, but I expect a lot from you for this case. I am assigning it to you because you know the patient on a personal level that will be beneficial to helping him. I will need constant notes on his condition present in his chart, which I will check every few days, and I will allow his release to visit his family on weekends, like you asked, on the condition that you go with him when he is outside the hospital. I hope you understand the gravity of this case and your position in it, Miss Granger."

"I do, sir. I completely understand."

"Good. Now, go put orders in for him to be moved to one of the long-term resident rooms." She nodded and turned to leave, but turned back when she heard him speak up again. "Granger."

"Yes sir?"

"How many hours have you been on call?"

She paused for a second, totaling everything in her mind. "Fifty hours, sir." His expression softened slightly, and she saw the hint of a smile underneath the dark brown eyes and the bushy, gray moustache.

"Make sure the patient is settled, check up on him, and then go home, Granger. Get some well-earned sleep and come back tonight for another check."

"Thank you, sir. Have a good day." She smiled at him and he smiled back as she turned and headed out of the office, not sure whether she was more excited about George's case being taken seriously or being able to finally get some sleep. She headed down the hall, left, right, another right, and was back at the examination rooms. She saw Rose up ahead and was about to disregard her presence in this hallway, as she probably just brought up another patient, when she saw Rose go to turn the handle to George's door. "Rose!" she called. The girl's hand shot away from the door as if burned and looked over, a wide-eyed look of guilt on her face.

"Oh, hi Hermione," she said, trying to look as casual as possible.

"Hey, so why were you going into that patient's room?" Hermione asked as she finally reached her.

"Oh, just wanted to check on him. Make sure he's okay. Is he being discharged?" She smiled at Hermione, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"No," Hermione replied slowly, watching her friend curiously. "He's being moved to one of the long-term rooms." She saw a flicker of excitement pass over Rose's face before it disappeared as she resumed her casual demeanor.

"So, memory erased?"

"Umm, no. Actually, it's a much more specific case and I've been assigned the case to work with him exclusively." Now she wasn't even trying to hide the look of jealousy on her face as she stared at Hermione.

"Really?"

"Uhh, yeah. Why? Is that an issue?"

"No," Rose said quickly, as if trying to backtrack. "No, I just, you know, I-"

"Were you going to hit on him?" Hermione questioned, a smile of disbelief on her face. The young healer's eyes widened immediately.

"No, well, I-," she argued feebly, finally giving up. "He's _really_ attractive, Hermione. And if he's not mad…"

Hermione crinkled her nose. "Hitting on patients in the mental ward? Bad form, Rose." Rose had the decency to look slightly shamed.

"Are- Are you going in?" she asked, her eyes lighting up.

"Yes," said Hermione, slowly backing up towards the door, her hand behind her, already on the handle. "But this needs to be a private conversation between the patient and his healer. Thanks though!" In one swift move, she opened the door, slid in, and closed it quickly behind her. She shook her head at the trainee's actions, not noticing that at her arrival, the attractive patient in question had sat up quickly, startled. She turned to see his bright blue eyes staring at her in confusion. "Oh, sorry about that. Usually my entrances are not so…odd." He raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth pulling up ever so slightly.

"And what made you enter like that?"

"Errr…well, one of the trainees is trying to…well, she seems to be a bit taken with you."

George stared at her blankly for a second before starting to laugh. "Taken with me? Who, the blonde one?" She nodded. "But I'm a nutter! Well, to her knowledge at least."

Hermione grinned in spite of herself. "A nutter with a room in St. Mungo's for as long as you need it, in fact."

His face immediately became serious as he looked at her, almost urgently. "Really?"

"Yes, and I am the healer in charge of your case."

"Just you?"

"Why, you think I can't handle you?"

A little smile appeared on his face. "No, I'm sure you can handle me," he started. For a moment, Hermione thought he had winked, but she was sure it was just her tired eyes not focusing. "I just think that's a rather large task for someone so new to this ward."

…

"Yes, well it helps that I already know you and your family well."

"Ah, see, I didn't even think of that." George stood up from the examination table and stretched. "So, does this mean I actually get a bed? This thing is torture on the back." She nodded and gestured for him to follow her. They headed out into the hallway and he saw it was as empty and silent as it had been when he had arrived, save for the blonde healer-in-training who was, very poorly, trying to be sly about sneaking glances at George. He wasn't sure how to react to this, so he simply continued following Hermione down a number of hallways, finally ending at a door made of a light wood. The difference between the hallway of examination rooms and this one was marked. Whereas the other one had a clinical, all-white look that made you nervous to touch anything for fear of leaving the smallest mark, this hallway was brightly lit from sunshine through the several windows that were spaced along the walls with more inviting colors present everywhere. This was obviously an attempt to make the more permanent wards have a more welcoming, homey feel which was, for the most part, successful in contrast to the starkness of the rest of the ward. Hermione opened the door and he followed her in, looking around. It was a decent sized room with a comfortable enough looking bed, an armchair, a small table with two chairs. There was also a door that, save for the handle, blended in with the wall around it.

"Alright, well, you've got your bed, places to sit, a window that is unbreakable and does not open, by the way," she said, glancing quickly at him. He almost felt he should be insulted that she had to tell him that, but realized she was saying this to make a point, and it had resonated. "Over here," she said, opening the extra door "is the shower, the sink, and the loo. At each of the mealtimes, someone will come around and bring you food. Make sure to inform them of any allergies or dislikes. Oh, and since today is Saturday-"

"Barely," he muttered, glancing at his watch and seeing it was only a quarter past five in the morning.

"Well, even so," she continued, though she did raise her eyebrows in agreement, "you have been given permission to leave on Sundays to go to the Burrow-"

"Probably to make it look as though nothing is wrong for my family."

"Precicely, but you get to leave on Sundays on the condition that I come with you, whether it be to the shop, to the Burrow, et cetera."

"So, one good thing comes out of my madness – we finally will be graced with your presence at Sunday dinners." Hermione's crisp, professional demeanor melted away as she smiled at him, almost wistfully.

"Funny how things like that happen. Well, anyways, tomorrow I suppose we'll go pick up clothes and anything else you might need. You'll probably want to work from here?" She looked at him, unsure for the first time this morning. George thought about it for a moment.

"Seems to be the best plan outside of someone handcuffing me to something in my house and not letting me near anything that might hurt me," he joked. He looked up to see her not amused, but rather watching him worriedly.

"Is it that bad?" The halfhearted smile fell easily off his face as he looked at her.

"Sometimes. Sometimes it's not so bad though. It comes and it goes, I suppose."

She seemed to be lost in thought for a moment before she began scanning the room. He watched her curiously, not understanding what she was looking for. Seemingly unsatisfied with her search, she pulled a muggle pen out of the pocket of her lime green robe, and pointed her wand at it, muttering something quietly. She stowed her wand away and walked towards him, holding out the pen for him to take.

"I am the healer in charge of you now, but just because you seem okay right now doesn't make me think you're always okay," she said, her voice full of concern. "I get to go home now and get some sleep, but I'm going to leave this pen with you. If you are having any trouble with anything, if things take a turn for the worse and you're feeling really awful, even if you just want to talk, press down on the top until it glows and I'll come right over." He looked at her, a little stunned by this immensely kind and personal action that seemed out of place with her usual professional manner. "Please, George; whenever you need me, no matter what. I want to help you." Her words had a pleading, almost desperate note to them. She tried to smile at him, but she still looked worried, almost as though she was close to tears.

"Thank you," he said quietly, taking the pen from her and putting it in his pocket. She smiled at him as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Well, I better be off. Need to start catching up on my sleep. Remember, if you need anything-"

"-Give you a ring, or whatever using this would be called," he finished. She nodded and walked past. He began looking around his new room but turned his head quickly towards her when she squeezed his shoulder softly as she passed in a comforting manner. She was just opening the room to leave when he thought of something. "Umm…what do I call you? Healer Granger?"

She turned and surveyed him for a moment before responding. "Hermione is just fine." She gave him a sweet smile before removing her hand from the door, which swung shut.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: ** Sorry this chapter took so long! I am someone who has to constantly have an occupation and this lag of summer vacation has me constantly bored and apathetic. Never fear – school is starting this Thursday and I am sure my creative cogs will once again be turning at a rapid pace. Not Rowling!

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Hermione was walking through a field that bordered an imposing forest, whose shadow fell across the wildflowers and tall grass that waltzed gracefully with the breeze. She walked towards the forest and saw that the sunbeams fought their way through the canopy of the trees, dappling the leaf-strewn forest floor with shimmering gold flecks of light. She was in search of something, someone, but she didn't know what precisely. As she finally stepped into the cool shade of the trees, she smiled softly. _Just a little further._ She walked unhurriedly, admiring her surroundings. A little ways up ahead, a fawn munched on a berry. Suddenly, her head snapped up and she stared at Hermione, her body tense. Hermione stopped and smiled at it. It seemed to relax as it watched her but pranced away anyways. Hermione continued down the winding path until she got to a clearing. She stood about, waiting. A few moments later, she heard a twig snap behind her. She whirled around and smiled immediately.

"I knew you would be late," she admonished with a grin.

"You know me too well," the man said with a laugh. He was in shadow, but he stepped forward to greet her and as he did, the sunbeams caught the strong bone structure of and bright smile of-

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Hermione groaned as her alarm clock went off, shattering the still morning air and ripping her mind from the pleasant dream she had been having. She rolled over and smacked it, turning it off. She stared blearily at the red numbers, trying to remember why on earth she was up this early. This was her day to sleep in. Then it hit her – she had to go out for the day with George. She flopped back onto her pillows with a sigh and stared up at the ceiling. 'I wonder how today is going to go.' The ceiling gave her no answer, so she grumbled as she rolled out of bed and padded to the bathroom, still only half-awake.

…

George stared up at the ceiling, which was a cream color that seemed to give a kind of warmth to the room. 'I wonder how today is going to go,' he thought as he rested his head on the pillow, his eyes still blurry and unfocused from sleep. He sighed and pushed off the covers before heading to the bathroom to get ready.

…

Hermione weaved her way through the early morning patients, waving to the Welcome Witch on duty, and hopped in a lift accending to the fourth floor. She headed out and smiled to the guard of the ward, a buff and imposing figure that, paradoxically, could always be caught reading muggle poets and writing poetry, who smiled back and let her in. She headed to the nurses' station and asked for George's chart, to make sure everything was fine. As she stood there, reading over notes from the previous night, she heard a familiar, deep voice next to her.

"Could I have the chart for the patient in room eight, a Mister Robert Wesley." Hermione saw, in her peripheral vision, a tall man in a set of crisp lime green robes. "Good morning, Healer Granger," he said, the smile evident in his voice. Trying not to squeak with excitement that he was even talking to her, she turned and smiled at him.

"Good morning, Healer Gastrell. How are you?"

Simon Gastrell was one of the top healers in the ward and simply flawless. He looked like a celebrity, someone playing a healer, because there was _no way_ someone that gorgeous was actually that smart and that caring. That just didn't happen, in Hermione's opinion. But yet, here he was, all six feet of him pulling off lime green as though the color had been selected simply for him when he joined the staff. He had somewhat tan skin, which just didn't happen in England, and constantly-tousled, chocolatey brown hair that left Hermione itching to run her fingers through it. He had a strong jaw line and a neat and constantly-trimmed goatee, above which sparkled dark brown eyes that made you feel as though he was constantly appraising you, matched with perfect lips that always seemed to have a small smile just for you. He was an absolute dream and the guy every nurse in the hospital swooned over, Hermione included, despite the fact that he was a number of years older than her.

He surveyed her and Hermione willed herself not to blush as she felt she was being x-rayed. She didn't look anything special, but she was in regular clothes rather than her healer robes. She was dressed in some well-fitting, dark khaki trousers and a soft black sweater that clung to her curves without being too tight, just hinting at the bright red shirt that lay beneath. Her hair, usually held back in a plait or a bun, was loose, her curls out of control. "I'm well. I see you're not here for your usual shift." He winked and she willed herself not to faint.

"No, I'm actually in charge of a special case and I have to escort him on Sundays to see his family, as he doesn't want them knowing his condition."

He quirked an eyebrow and a small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "How intriguing. Well, good luck and have a good day." He gave her a warm smile and she self-consciously touched her hair.

"Thanks, you too," she said, trying to hide the breathy note in her voice.

He turned at smiled at the nurse, who had been staring at him with obvious longing, and handed her back the extra paperwork he did not need. "Thanks, Annie." The girl looked ready to pass out at the fact that he knew her name. The two girls watched him walk away and a small part of Hermione felt resentful at the young nurse for having gotten one of his smiles. 'But,' thought Hermione rationally, 'he knows everyone's names and smiles at all the girls like that. It's nothing especially for you.' Still, a small part of her, the giddy teenage girl he seemed to bring out in her, tried desperately to ignore this depressing thought. Shaking herself, she headed over to George's room, trying to regain her composure.

…

As George walked out of the hospital with Hermione, he looked around at the other patients. There was a man with extra arms where his ears should be that kept smacking people on the back of the head. Over by the windows was a woman who was singing opera, a look of consternation on her face as she tried to silence herself. At the desk talking to the Welcome Witch was a harried mother carrying a young girl whose hair had turned to Medusa-like coils of small snakes, hissing and snapping at each other and the others in line. He didn't belong here, with all these people with major physical issues. He was fine. 'But,' he reasoned with himself, 'last night you did really think about it again, didn't you?' He dropped his head, shamefacedly accepting this as true.

"Do you want to stop at your shop or your apartment first? You probably want to change clothes and pack some new ones." He started, having been so in his own mind that he had been following Hermione automatically, having completely missed the fact that they were now outside the hospital and she was looking at him expectantly, her hand outstretched for apparition.

"Uh, yeah," he replied and before he could say more, she grasped his hand tightly and turned. They landed in the middle of his apartment with a _crack!_ and they looked around the dark apartment, the sun desperate to wiggle its way through the shuttered windows. About a minute later, Hermione dropped his hand, finally having realized they were still holding hands, her cheeks suddenly tinged slightly with a light pink.

…

"So this is it – where all the dastardly plots and new inventions were forged," she said, walking about the surprisingly large room, taking in the soft couches, the mahogany coffee table covered with a thin layer of dust from disuse, and the bookshelf that lined one whole wall and stretched from ceiling to floor, grand and somehow stretching the room to a proportion not seemly possible, considering the size of the apartment from the outside. She gasped, admiring a sight she would have never pictured in the twins' apartment. She heard a chuckle from behind her and felt the warmth of his body as he stood, rather close, behind her.

"Didn't expect that, did you?" She shook her head. "It's actually almost all mine. The extra textbooks and occasional odd charms book are Fred's, but the rest are mine." She could hear the smile in his voice, almost wistful. 'This might not be so bad, getting to know George more,' she thought to herself. "I'll go pack stuff up. You don't mind if I take a quick shower, do you? I took one this morning, but it doesn't feel the same if I put the same clothes on again." She shook her head, still marveling at the sheer size of the bookcase, and he grinned. "Alright then." He hurried away and she heard a door shut and the sound of water hitting the basin of a tub, but these were simply background noises. She moved to the window and threw open the shutters, light pouring into the room and illuminating the forlornness of a room obviously not put to much use recently. She looked around and saw that in a darkened corner of the room, where the end of the bookshelf met the wall, a ladder on rollers was attached, allowing one to peruse the top shelves without having to summon down each book at a time and then put them back. She beamed and hurried over, clambering up the ladder and beginning to read the titles along the spines of the well-worn books.

…

With a _crack!_, Hermione and George landed on the small hill that overlooked the Burrow, its windows alight with a merry golden glow, movement making the light flicker, as if each window held two beams of light, both constantly intertwining and swaying, lovers dancing to a slow, sensual tune. George realized Hermione was still holding his hand, but as he looked over at her, she made no move to relinquish her grip.

"You gonna be okay?" she asked, the concern evident in her voice.

He raised his eyebrows in a silent gesture of resignation. "Well, it's a matter of how you see it. I'm terribly good at playing like everything is okay, when in reality…"

"Do you do that when you're at the hospital, when you're with me?"

He contemplated her for a moment before answering truthfully. "Sometimes."

"Don't," she commanded. Her expression suddenly softened. "I won't give any sign that you're less than what you show the rest of your family, but when you're with me, be honest. You came to me-"

"Well, strictly speaking, I came to the hospital and you happened to be my healer-"

"But you told me, you opened up to me. And I made sure you could stay and get help, my help."

George thought about this for a moment before smiling sadly at her, his smiling façade drifting away, like smoke from a candle that has just been snuffed out. "I guess I did come to you. And I won't fake it anymore. Around you, at least," he reasoned.

She smiled. "Good." She finally dropped his hand and he could feel the smallest feeling of loss tinge his thoughts. They walked down to the Burrow and George knocked on the front door, which was soon opened by a beaming Ginny.

"GEORGE!"

"Hey Gin!" He grinned and hugged her, picking her feet up from the ground and making her laugh. They headed in, Ginny pestering Hermione excitedly about her sudden presence at the Burrow that had long since been vacant.

"Hello, George dear," said Mrs. Weasley happily as they shut the door behind them and turned to see Mrs. Weasley, her ginger curls bouncing around her face from the steam of the pots and pans. She gave George a hug and a kiss on the cheek before turning to Hermione, beaming. "Hermione! Oh I'm so glad you came! We've missed you! What brought this about, not that I'm complaining?"

"I'm glad to see you too, Molly!" said Hermione, George catching the quick glimpse she shot his way. They hadn't planned for why Hermione was suddenly back at the Burrow after such a long absence.

"One of my products was giving me difficulty, to say the least. Blew up and gave me a nasty cut that I was afraid to heal on my own. Green and purple marks around it; it was not pretty. So I popped on over to St. Mungo's and it just so happens Hermione was my healer! So I invited her over," he said smilingly, his tone so casual, it was hard to believe he had just made up that excuse on the spot. 'Although,' he thought ruefully, 'parts of it were true.'

…

Dinner went along smoothly, everyone easily accepting his story about Hermione's presence at the dinner table, everyone laughing at his jokes, everyone smiling and enjoying the comfort of family. Throughout the dinner, whenever George would crack a joke or sly comment, Hermione would laugh along, but her eyes would search his face and inevitably find the sadness that was always present, albeit well-hidden. He tried to ignore this, as he felt it was throwing him off, shaking him from the ease that filled him, knowing no one suspected he was anything less than jovial. By the end of a sumptuous dinner and delectable dessert, he got a glance from Hermione, who had looked at her watch a moment earlier. She got up from the table, thanking Mrs. Weasley for the wonderful food and company, promising she would be there next week, and giving everyone hugs, catching Harry and Ron twice. She left the Burrow with a bright smile and a wave, a _crack!_ a moment later announcing her departure. As everyone was standing after hugging Hermione goodbye, he moved to help his mother clear the table and set the dishes to cleaning themselves.

"Actually, Mum, I best be off too. Got a meeting tomorrow for one of the new branches. Thanks so much for everything. It was delicious, as always."

She gave him a bright smile, although her eyes filled with tears. "I know it's hard," she whispered to him, her hands resting softly on his upper arms. "But you are so brave. You are one of the bravest people I know. I love you so much, George. Don't forget that."

He got a little choked up and felt like spilling it all then, falling into the arms of the woman who had sneaked him and Fred extra servings of pudding on holidays, the woman who had healed all his injuries, never asking how he got them, the woman who always knew, at some level, how he was feeling. He couldn't, though. He couldn't hurt her like that. "Thanks Mum," he whispered back. "I love you too." She gave him a tight hug, which he returned, and a big kiss on the cheek.

"Say goodbye to everyone and be safe. I expect you here next Sunday." He smiled at her. That was probably another thing that kept him from taking that step off the railing, the fact that there were people who expected to see him each day or each week, happy to see him.

"I'll be here, Mum," he said softly. And at that moment, he decided he would be, no matter what.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the long gap in between chapters! I have been so busy and really sick, so I haven't been able to get to this. Hope this action-packed chapter makes up for everything! Not Rowling!

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Hermione was on her coffee break from helping out in the Emergency Room. Due to a close match between Scotland and Luxembourg and some shady calls by the referee, large scale riots and fights had followed the quidditch match and many had been rushed to the hospital with bad injuries or the effects of horrible hexes. Hermione sighed gratefully as she sipped her coffee. After another 24-hour shift and the heavily injured and still irate fans, a small break was what she needed. Just as she was finishing her coffee, Simon came into the break room, obviously tired, his hair out of place, and a few smears of blood on his robe, which he was cleaning off with his wand as he walked in. He sank into a chair opposite Hermione and looked up, a bit of surprise registering on his face.

"So sorry. I thought it was empty in here. You're rather silent, you know."

She smiled at him. "Just tired."

A wry smile appeared on his face. "You and me both. Those quidditch fans are ridiculous. I mean, give me a good match any day, but having to wrestle one fan away from another so as to prevent another fight in the middle of the lobby? That's just going a little too far."

"You had to wrestle someone?" Hermione asked, torn between surprise and amusement.

"Yeah, some huge Scottish bloke. And he put up a good fight too. Actually got a few hits on me as well as the Luxembourger. Finally had to stun him to get him to stop." As Hermione took a better look, she saw Simon had a black eye starting to bloom.

"Oh gosh, let me fix that for you! That looks rather painful," she said worriedly, standing up and hurrying over.

"No, no, I'll get to it. It's really not a-" But before he could protest any more, Hermione had healed the black eye. He smiled thankfully at her. "Well, thank you." She smiled at him, just connecting what she had done and for whom. Suddenly, his face rearranged itself into a look of confusion. "Umm…Hermione? Your pocket's glowing."

"Huh?"

"Your pocket," he said, pointing to the left pocket of her robe, "it's glowing." She looked down and hurriedly stuck her hand in the pocket, pulling out a pen that was glowing bright white. Her eyes widened as she rushed, without a word, from the room and upstairs towards George's room. She had checked on his last night but hadn't seen him since, as the healers in charge of spell damage had been required to help with the thousand or so patients that had gotten injured at the Quidditch match. She ran to the lift and started pushing the button as rapidly as possible, but the lift was going too slowly, so she rushed to the stairwell, threw open the door, and began running at top speed up the stairs. The fourth floor's stairwell door flew open, hitting the opposite wall with a _bang_ and startling the guard, who barely had time to register that Hermione had run through the doors before he had time to check her. She flew down one hallway, then another, until she reached George's room. She threw open the door, but, after a quick glance, saw no sign of George.

"GEORGE?" She heard the fear in her voice, the anxiousness to find him.

There was no response. As she scanned the room again, she noticed a small line of blood making its way out from under the closed bathroom door, snaking its way slowly across the wood-paneled floor. She ran to the door and threw it open and a spasm of fear ran through her body as she looked at the scene that would haunt her nightmares for weeks to come. George lay on the floor, impossibly pale, surrounded by blood, shockingly red against the white of the tile floor. As she collected herself and analyzed the scene so as to know how best to heal him, she saw a smear of blood on the edge of the bath as well as a long smear across the floor. It seemed George had slipped in some blood on the floor, fallen, and hit his head on the side of the bath, which would now explain the blood now pooling around his head. The blood already on the floor when he slipped was the mystery. She searched his body and found that the rest of the blood was pouring quite rapidly from his left arm, where his hand met his wrist. All of this had taken her about five seconds, and she immediately starting muttering spells at top speed. The blood on the floor was slowly retreating back into his wounds, like someone rewinding a video. When all the blood was back in his body, she set to healing his wounds, hurriedly healing the jagged cut on his wrist, from which a majority of the blood had come. As she kneeled hurriedly next to his face and gently picked up his head, she saw the place where the edge of the bath had connected when he had fallen, his red hair damp with blood so dark it looked almost black around a painful-looking wound. As Hermione muttered more spells under her breath, furiously fighting back tears that were welling up in her eyes, she looked around, confused. The hit to his temple was a dangerous one and should have knocked him unconscious immediately. This did not make sense, though, as somehow he had been able to press the pen before losing consciousness. She looked around and saw the broken top of the toilet, and in her mind, she saw the scene playing out.

_George moved to pull on his trousers and fell, slipping on the floor still wet from the shower. He fell backwards into the toilet and the cover slid off, breaking into pieces with the splintering sound of porcelain shattering. He fell to the ground from the unfortunate slide, his back aching, and he tried to push himself up. He felt a searing pain in his left wrist. He looked down to see that a particularly jagged piece of porcelain that had been lying innocently on the floor had caught his wrist when he had tried to push himself up and had cut his wrist pretty badly. As he tried to stand, to relieve the pain he felt in his back, he slipped, already dizzy from the rapidity of the blood pouring out of his body, dripping from his fingertips and mingling with the water on the white tiles. He fell, hitting his temple on the edge of the bath before falling to the ground. As he drifted towards oblivion, he fought against the darkness that was slowly encasing his mind. He looked over and saw that, in his fall, the pen he always carried with him, the pen Hermione gave him, had fallen out of his trouser pocket and was lying next to his right hand. He struggled to pick it up and, with the dredges of consciousness he still possessed, he pressed the button, knowing it was glowing by the bright light reflecting, dancing across the dark scene around it. She was coming. It would all be okay. She was coming. And as the pain overwhelmed him and the blood loss sapped the last of his consciousness, his head dropped back to the floor, as did his hand, his grasp loosening and the pen rolling out of his hand, its job done._

As Hermione watched the last of his wounds heal, she held his head in her lap, roughly wiping away a stray tear with the back of her hand. "George? George, wake up. George, please wake up." Her voice cracked as she watched his face, pale and immobile as a statue, the aggravatingly slow rise and fall of his chest the only visible sign that he was still alive. "Please."

…

'Why does my back hurt so much?' He tried to raise his head, but it throbbed painfully and he gave up. 'Why does my head hurt so much?' He tried to open his eyes, but the rapid assault of light pierced his brain like a hot knife and he closed them quickly, feeling violently sick and dizzy all of a sudden. As he swallowed, trying to not be sick, he felt pressure on his left hand. He moved a finger and felt it brush against the soft skin of another hand. He felt the other person start and heard movement next to him.

"George?"

Knowing he would regret this when the pain again hit, he turned his head and opened his eyes. Next to him was Hermione, her brown hair dark against her unusually pale skin. Before his brain could register her movements, he felt her soft palm cupping his cheek, her red-rimmed eyes searching his face, desperate, terrified, relieved. "Oh thank God," she said, the words coming out like an exhale of breath. She immediately set to checking him, her hands zooming across his body, first to his neck, her two fingers pressed firmly against the soft skin, searching for a steady pulse, then to his head, turning it gently, her fingers running through his hair, searching for something. The movement was making him sick and he closed his eyes. He felt her move his head back against the pillow and felt her hands run down the inside of his arm until she reached his wrist, the pad of her thumb running across the tender skin. He felt her rest his arm back on the bed and heard her move to his other side, glass bottles and cups jangling against the wood of a table. He heard the splash of liquid against the bottom of a glass and felt her hand slide to the back of his head, supporting it and raising it slightly. "Drink this." He opened his mouth, still feeling too sick to open his eyes, and felt her pour some liquid into his mouth, which he swallowed. She set his head back down and he turned it slowly, opening his eyes to see what was going on. She was putting a cork back in a large glass bottle in which red liquid quietly moved around, settling. She set the glass tumbler back down and wrote something hurriedly on a chart. She moved quickly, her jaw set, her lips pressed together, a look of determination only marred by the wrinkles in her brow as she frowned and the scared look that hadn't left her eyes. She looked over and moved to look back at the array of items on the small table, but stopped when she saw his eyes were open. Without him saying anything, she rested her hand gently on his arm. "You lost a lot of blood. You need to take this Blood Replenishing Potion every hour." Her eyes were shining with unshed tears as she looked at him. She moved back over to his left side and gingerly picked up his left hand, holding it with both of hers. He turned his head and looked at her, the dizziness and sickness making his head spin. "George, try and get some sleep. You're going to feel wretched for a while. Don't worry. I'll be here. I'm not going to leave."

And with that, he felt the pain overwhelm him and he closed his eyes, floating to a place in between consciousness and unconsciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** I hope you guys like this chapter! Not Rowling.

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George opened his eyes slowly, his head pounding. He turned his head to the right and looked around groggily, seeing the bottle of Blood Replenishing Potion and the glass tumbler on the small oak table. Trying to ignore his headache, he slowly turned his head on the pillow until he was looking to his left. The armchair had been pulled up right next to the bed, the arms of the chair pressed against the side of the mattress. In the chair sat Hermione, her knees tucked up to her chest, her left side gently resting against the mattress, fast asleep. Her head was resting on George's leg, which was covered by the grey hospital blankets, and her right hand was still in his left, her arm supported on her kneecaps. As he looked at her hand in his, his eyes traveled up her arm to the dark stains on the cuffs of her white dress shirt and on the bottom of her lime green robe, which was draped over the back of the chair. He frowned, trying to force his aching head to fight through the haze of pain and medication and remember what happened.

_The shower. Falling into the toilet. That piece cutting his wrist while he tried to support himself. The blood seeping out of the cut on his wrist. Slipping. The pen. Hermione's voice._

He felt his stomach churn as he remembered. His right hand shot up, checking his temple, but everything was healed and clean. He looked down at his wrist to see it healed but red and tender-looking. He heard a deep inhale and saw Hermione shift. His movements must have woken her up. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," he whispered, his voice raspy. Her head shot up and she looked at him with scared eyes. Suddenly, her expression cleared and a bright smile lit up her face.

"GEORGE! Oh, thank God you're alright!" Before he could register what was happening, she had shot forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder. He felt the warm weight of her chest on his and a little smile appeared on his lips. He wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her back. He felt her shaking slightly against his and he turned his head, ignoring the pain as he moved to check her. She lifted her head and he saw her eyes filled with tears, her cheeks wet and a few rogue tears slipping off the tip of her nose. He felt one drip off and splash onto the crook of his neck, which he realized was damp from her crying. "I'm sorry, I just-, George, you gave me such a scare. I thought I'd lost you. Thank God you pressed that pen." She buried her face once again in his neck and hugged him tightly. He hugged her back.

"I'm okay now, thanks to you," he said, wincing as he felt how sore his throat was. She moved back, unwinding her arms from around his neck and sitting on the mattress next to him, her hip touching his.

"So what happened?" she asked.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember the horrible incident in detail. "Umm, well, I took my shower and had my clothes lying on the edge of the sink. I pulled on my shorts and was in the middle of pulling on my trousers when I slipped and fell backwards into the john. My back slammed into it as I fell and the top shot off and broke. Umm…I tried to get up and one of the pieces cut me. I didn't have my wand, which was impossibly stupid, and when I tried to get it, I slipped again. I remember hitting my head and vaguely remember the pen, but that's it." He looked at Hermione and saw that her lips were pressed together, nodding slightly as she listened to him. "How bad was it?" he asked her. He saw her pale slightly and the corners of her lips turn down, as if she was fighting to maintain her composure, but failing.

…

"Bad," she whispered, staring at the covers. She could see the scene replaying before her eyes – the blood, his pale face, his faint heartbeat. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her lips together, forcing herself to keep it together. "Really bad. There was blood everywhere. You were so pale…" She trailed off, not wanting to say anymore. George surveyed her face and took her hand in his. He looked around for a moment before looking back at her, a small grin on his face.

"So that means you found me in just my knickers?"

She laughed. "Yes, yes I did. And to be honest, I expected more a more exuberant choice of undergarments from you."

He laughed and picked up the sheets with his free hand, peering at his lower half. "But black is classic," he reasoned, a little smirk playing on his lips. "I'm just thankful you were able to ignore my stunning physique and attend to the problem at hand." They both laughed, thankful to have something to laugh about after the drama of the day. "Actually, it's rather embarrassing, although I suppose having your life saved while wearing only your knickers is better than being found horribly drunk in the same state of undress." She rolled her eyes, but grinned, appreciative of his attempts to lighten the mood. "Honestly though, Hermione, thank you so much," he said, his voice suddenly serious, his bright blue eyes finding her, boring into her like a laser beam. "This seems to be the second time you've saved my life. I really am working up a debt to you, aren't I?"

She smiled softly at him, feeling him squeeze her hand gently. "You don't owe me anything. I'm just happy you're still alive."

"Only because of you."

"Well, actually, because you called me. Which I still don't quite understand. That hit to your head – the least it would have done was knocked you unconscious instantly. I don't understand how you were able to do it, unless you did it before the fall."

"I know I didn't do it before the fall, but I honestly don't remember. Thank Merlin I did though."

…

He saw her brow furrow and her start to worry her bottom lip as she looked at him. She wasn't looking at his face; it was like she was looking deeper, her mind focused on something besides the face in front of her. "George?" she asked, her voice nervous, unsure.

"Yeah?"

"Umm…I've been thinking about something that might help you. Not about the fall, but in general."

"Yeah? What is it?"

"Writing to Fred."

He froze, watching her bite her lip nervously as she watched for a reaction. "Excuse me?" he asked quietly.

"I thought maybe writing to Fred might help. You know he's never gone; he's in here," she said, resting her palm on his chest right above his heart. "Maybe you need to talk to him. If he's your other half, you have to make sure it's always that way."

He thought about it, neither noticing that her hand was still resting on his bare chest, as the sheet had slipped down to his abdomen earlier. "I…suppose I could…try," he said haltingly.

She smiled softly at him. "We'll just try it." She pushed the chair back with her foot and slid off of the bed, the mattress rising as she did so. He immediately felt a few degrees cooler as her body moved, no longer close to his. She moved the chair back into position and walked to the other side of the bed, refilling the tumbler with the potion. She handed it to him and he drank it, the cool, almost metallic aftertaste hitting the back of his throat.

…

"So I have to go report what happened and work the rest of my shift. Here's some parchment, a couple quills, and a bottle of ink. I'll be back to check on you later. You sure you're going to be okay?"

"Hermione, I didn't plan my accident and I'm definitely not planning another. Plus, I always have that pen on me. Don't worry. Go do the rest of your shift; I'll be fine. Thank you." She smiled at him and walked out, the door closing behind her with a _click_. He brought his handful of supplies to the table, pulled out a chair, dipped his quill in the ink, and stared at the black parchment.

_Hello Fred._

_This is rubbish. How am I supposed to do this? Bollocks. Okay. Fine. I'll do it. Bollocks._

_Hermione told me to write to you and see if it helps. She said that we were always two halves of a whole and that not talking to you kind of erases your half. I think she's mad, wanting me to talk to you as if you're alive. She's going to turn me into a complete nutter. But I told her I'd try it, so here we are, with me sounding like a complete numpty._

_Alright. Well, I almost died today. That sounds rather melodramatic, doesn't it? But yeah, I almost died. The ruddy toilet cut my wrist and I bashed my head on the tub. Forgot my wand in the other room like a complete idiot. Hermione found me, apparently surrounded by a ton of blood. She said I called her with the pen she gave me, but I don't remember doing it. She said that I should have been completely unconscious from my fall. Did you do it? Oh great, now I sound mental. I don't know why, but for some reason what Hermione said about you stopping me keeps sticking in my head. Maybe that's why I'm still here. All the explosions at work, all the times I've stopped myself, today. Maybe you're trying to protect me and keep me alive. If so, thank you. I know I would be dead if it wasn't for Hermione. She got really worried, you know. Cried a whole lot and everything. I can understand that really terrifying someone, but I was a tad surprised. She said "I thought I almost lost you," not "we." I didn't know she cared that much. I knew she's been worried about me and has been trying to help me, but that still took me by surprise. I suppose that's all I can think about writing right now. I guess I'll go to the loo and then go lay down again with one of my old books. Don't worry, I'll be careful._

_George_

…

George woke in the middle of the night, needing to go to the bathroom. He slipped out of bed, walking in and closing the bathroom door behind him. His foot was not on cold tile, but rather on something fuzzy. He tried to focus his eyes, blurry from sleep, and saw that a soft rug now covered the floor of the bathroom. He smiled. "Thank you, Hermione," he said quietly to himself. After relieving himself and washing his hands, he walked out, checking the clock on the wall as he did so.

Two in the morning.

He made his way back to bed, but froze as he heard another person breathing. He looked around and saw that Hermione was again asleep in the armchair, her body all crunched up and her head resting on the armchair, her robe draped over her like a blanket. He smiled softly and walked over to her. He silently levitated one of the straight-backed chairs over to them and he transfigured it into a small bed, complete with a thick mattress, a fluffy pillow, and a quilt. He pulled back the quilt and walked over to Hermione. When he had gone to sleep around eleven, Hermione had still been on duty. She must have come in here after her shift and fallen asleep after checking up on him. As gently as he could, he slipped one arm under her knees and one arm under her shoulders, picking her up bridal-style and carrying her light form over to the small bed. He laid her down and pulled the quilt over her now-outstretched leg, letting it rest just under her clavicle. He moved to walk away, but she turned in her sleep and her arms wrapped around his arm, hugging it to his chest like a child holds a teddy bear. Not really sure what to do, he summoned one of his pillows and tucked it in her arms, slowly removing his trapped arm as he did so. She smiled slightly and hugged the pillow tighter, burying her face in it. He smiled at her childlike demeanor and padded back to bed, climbing in and pulling the covers up. He fell asleep listening to the sound of her breathing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** New chapter up and interesting direction chosen by my lovely friend Hailee. Let me know what you think. Not Rowling.

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_George, _

_There is no way you have been sick for two weeks. I've checked your apartment and your mum's house, and she said you were fine when she saw you on Sunday. Something is obviously up. Either you tell me or I'm prepared to hold the stores hostage. Don't you laugh, I honestly will. You better write me back or I'm going to beat the crap out of you when I find you._

_Lee_

…

_George, _

_I don't know why, but Lee stopped by the house today searching for you. He said you hadn't been at the shop for the past two weeks. I told him that you were okay last time I saw you and I didn't have an answer about where you'd been. He seemed pretty frustrated, so I wanted to let you know. Have you not been keeping in contact with him? Anyways, can't wait to see you Sunday and try to bring Hermione as well. We do miss her and it was lovely having her last week. I love you._

_Mum_

…

_Lee, _

_Sorry, mate. It's a long story and too complicated to explain over a letter. Go to St. Mungo's Fourth Floor and say you're looking for me. Thanks._

_George_

…

_Mum, _

_Thanks for letting me know. Don't know what's gotten into him. He obviously forgot to check our other branches. Thanks for writing me and I'll see if I can convince Hermione into coming._

_Much love,_

_George_

…

George paced his room, unsure of how his best friend was going to take everything. He knew he couldn't tell his family, but as Lee was not only his best friend, but his business partner, he had to tell him. He heard his friend's deep, sonorous voice as if he was standing outside his door, even though the nurse's station was three hallways away. "Sorry, but I'm looking for George Weasley." George vaguely heard the nurse responding in her soft voice, her words unintelligible from this distance. "Thanks." George tensed, knowing that in less than a minute, he would be confronted, and deservedly so. He heard footsteps outside his door and suddenly it opened, revealing a tall, muscular young man, a white t-shirt crisp against his caramel-colored skin, his coffee-colored eyes immediately falling on George.

"What the hell, mate?" he asked immediately, somewhat angrily. George felt his stomach clench.

"Come on in?" he said hesitantly, his words lilted like a question.

Lee looked around before sitting down at the table. He crossed his arms and stared at George expectantly. "This better be good." As George got into explaining, the angry expression on Lee's face was slowly replaced by one of nervousness and confusion. "So you checked yourself in because you almost threw yourself off Big Ben?" George nodded. "And then you almost died from an accident?" He nodded again. Lee sat back in his chair, his wide eyes on George, and whistled one note. "Damn, man. No wonder you haven't told your family."

"I'm really sorry I didn't tell you right off."

"You know, it does sting a bit knowing you couldn't come to me, but on the other hand, I completely understand."

"Thanks, man."

Lee smiled. "So, how has it been cooped up in the nuthouse?" he joked.

George laughed and began to talk about the weird things he saw and heard about the people in the hospital for the last month, including Hermione telling him to write to Fred.

"You think it's helping?" Lee asked, his brows contracted slightly.

"Dunno. I've only does it once. I feel a bit silly doing it, but I figure…I dunno, I guess we'll see." Right then, there was a rap on the door and the blonde nurse walked in shyly, a bottle and tumbler balanced on a chart in her hands.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt," she said hurriedly, blushing as Lee smiled at her. "It's time to have your potion, Mr. Weasley."

"Right you are," he said, getting up and walking over to the table next to the bed, where she was measuring out the potion. As he took it from her, their fingers brushed and she flushed a deeper pink, determinedly staring at something behind George. He drank it and handed it back with a smile, which she returned nervously. "Thanks so much."

"Ah-, uh, well, it's my job," she said hurriedly, obviously flustered. She smiled quickly at the two of them and hurried out of the room, forgetting to close the door in her haste.

"What in the world?" said Lee, half-laughing.

"Apparently, she's a bit taken with me," replied George with a grin, lowering himself back down into the chair.

"_Apparently_!" laughed Lee. George began to laugh, but it caught in his throat as he heard another deep voice laughing. Looking out the door, which looked out onto the rest of the hallway, he saw Hermione talking to an older wizard in lime green robes. He knew about Healer Gastrell and didn't like him one bit. He was slimy, one of those guys that relished in making every woman swoon over him, though he obviously had no feelings for them. George had thought he had escaped pretentious prats like that when he left Hogwarts, but alas, here was Gastrell, wreaking havoc on the female population of St. Mungo's. He heard another, more familiar laugh and turned his head somewhat to the side. Hermione was now visible, talking to him and leaning up against the wall, her index finger playing with a stray curl on her shoulder. "George?"

"Huh?" His eyes snapped back to Lee, who was watching him curiously.

"Something bothering you?"

"That guy's a prick," said George, his jaw clenched. "And Hermione's apparently his new target."

"And she seems to be fine with that," said Lee, turning around again and watching the pair.

"She's too smart for that," muttered George defiantly. Lee turned back, a small smirk on his face.

"You don't like seeing her with other blokes. Why do you think that is?" he asked, his tone hinting that he already knew the answer. George, too busy peering at the pair with slits for eyes, did not catch this.

"I couldn't care less about other blokes. I just hate this bloke. He's a complete tosser."

"Uh huh," hummed Lee, a small grin on his face as he watched his best friend glaring at the other man.

…

It was the evening and Hermione was heading to check up on George, since she hadn't been able to all day. As her feet traveled, taking her to where she needed to be, she thought about earlier. She and Simon had had a lovely chat and he had actually asked her to coffee tomorrow. She was pleasantly surprised at this and was quite proud that she refused to act like the swooning schoolgirl that the other nurses turned into when he approached them. Sure she had twirled her hair once or twice, but she had stopped as soon as she had noticed she was doing it. And that smile he gave her as he said, "Goodnight, Hermione,"? 'Well,' she thought with a small smile, 'it had been very nice.' She realized she had made it to George's room and she pulled her mind back to the present.

She opened the door and said, a smile on her face, "Good even-" The words died in her throat as she saw George's smile, the smile that lit up his eyes and made them twinkle, being directed at the other woman who was in the room, writing something on his chart. Rose. Hermione felt her stomach tighten and the smile slid off her face as her lips pursed and her jaw clenched. "Rose, I thought Helen was the nurse in charge of the permanent ward," she said, her tone light, but the insinuation was evident.

Rose turned around and smiled at Hermione, her cheeks still a little pink from her conversation with George. "Oh, you didn't hear? Helen wasn't feeling well today, so I got assigned here for the night. It's always nice to get in extra hours for training, don't you think?"

A tight smile that didn't reach her eyes appeared on Hermione's face. "Yes, it is. How kind of you to take part of your time off to check on my patient."

"Oh, it was nothing." Rose smiled and looked back at George. "I had a very nice time talking to Mr. Weasley." George smiled back at her.

The tight smile appeared again on Hermione's lips. "Well, isn't that lovely?" she said. Rose turned around to say something and she faltered, her smile slipping momentarily as she saw Hermione's gaze, so cold it could have frozen the blood running through her veins.

"W-well, I think I should head home," said Rose, the cheery tone to her voice not completely believable. "It was lovely talking to you, Mr. Weasley," she said, turning to George and smiling at him.

"You can call me 'George' if you like. And thanks for talking to a nutter like me," he said with a grin.

She blushed slightly and a tinkling laugh erupted from her lips. Hermione felt her stomach churn and flexed her fingers, not knowing why she suddenly had a strong urge to throttle the blonde in front of her.

"George it is, then," Rose said with a smile. "Goodnight George, and goodnight Hermione."

"Goodnight," they both said in unison, although one was cheerful and one was rather forced. Hermione watched her leave the room, her lips pursed. She walked to George's chart and picked it up, surveying it for errors.

"Probably too busy simpering to write anything correctly," she muttered tersely to herself.

"What was that?" George asked from the bed, on which he was reclining.

"Nothing," replied Hermione brusquely.

"You okay, Hermione?"

"Long day," she answered, her voice curt.

"Did I upset you somehow? Because you seem awfully abrupt."

She looked up and saw the look of concern on his face. She felt her anger slowly draining out of her. "No, you didn't do anything. I just-, she's rather frustrating sometimes. She's not supposed to be on duty and I've caught her numerous times trying to sneak in to talk to you when she was supposed to be elsewhere."

"You know, she is quite nice."

Hermione pursed her lips unconsciously. "Nice and professional do not mean the same thing."

"I never said they did, Hermione," replied George, his voice terse. She looked up from the file she had been reading over and was surprised to George looking at her, his arms crossed. "Although the same argument could be applied to that Gastrell fellow."

"What about Simon? He's a lovely man."

"I'm sure," replied George dryly, one eyebrow raised. "Have you noticed he's only _lovely_ to women?"

"Even if that was true, why have you noticed?" asked Hermione in an attempt to avoid his question. "He's never attended to you."

George scowled slightly. "He's a great prat, he is."

"You don't even know him."

"I don't have to know him to know he's a slimeball."

"A slime-! George, where do you get off making comments like this?" she asked, her voice raising slightly.

"Fine. Defend him. Go ahead. You'll see I'm right eventually." George crossed his arms and looked at her defiantly.

There was a _crack!_ and Hermione saw that she had been squeezing her quill so tightly that she had snapped it in half. She made a noise of frustration. "Are you fine?" she asked tersely, looking up at George with an angry look on her face. "No episodes of suicidal thought? Haven't cut yourself on anything today?"

He glared at her for a moment. "No."

"Great. Have a nice night." And with that, she walked out of George's room, the door slamming shut behind her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **Not Rowling but please enjoy.

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PS: I want to clarify because I think I confused some people. This is a bit of a jump in time from last chapter. It's assumed they've been to coffee several times before. Sorry for the confusion.

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_Fred, _

_Today has been okay. I thought about you a lot. Especially about us when we were little. Remember almost burning a hole in Ron's tongue with that Acid Pop? And scaring him half to death with that huge spider we replaced his teddy bear with? Oh, and when we charmed the back of Percy's robes to say "I'm the World's Biggest Prat?" He never did figure out why people were laughing at him. Good times. I really miss you. I'm feeling a bit better lately. As hokey as I thought this writing to you would be, it seems to be helping me. Whenever I start feeling awful and…well, you know, I write to you and talk to you about it. I_

"George?"

He turned around from the parchment and saw Hermione peeking her head through his door. "Hey."

"Hello," she said with a smile, walking in and closing the door behind her. "How are you doing?"

"Good."

"Feeling okay today?"

He smiled at her. "Originally I wasn't but I've been taking your advice."

She tilted her head to the side for a moment, confused, before spotting the parchment on the table behind him. A bright smile appeared on her face. "Oh, I'm so glad! Has it been working? I just thought-"

"It's been good so far, Hermione," he said with a little smile, interrupting her stream of worried words. He noticed she was not in her healer's robes, but rather in regular muggle clothing. She looked rather pretty in her dark trousers and light blue sweater, her curls free from their usual updo. "Where are you off to?"

She blushed slightly, but replied in a steady, nonchalant voice, "Out to grab a cup of coffee, well, tea for me, but you know."

"With whom?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light but already knowing the answer.

"With a friend."

"Does this friend have a name?"

"Of course they have a name."

He noted her lack of "he" or "she," which seemed to confirm his suspicions. "Would this friend happen to be Gastrell again?"

He saw a flicker of surprise in her eyes before she replied evenly, "Who are you, my mother? I do happen to have more friends than Simon."

"Yes, but do they all make you blush?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She flushed deeper. "George, what is your problem with him? It's only coffee for Merlin's sake!"

"So the answer would be 'Yes, it is him.' And he's not a good guy, Hermione. I know you don't want to believe me, but I know."

"How would you know, you've barely spoken to him," scoffed Hermione.

He raised his eyebrows, giving her a look that said he clearly doubted her intelligence at the moment. "Hermione, I'm a bloke. Blokes know these things about other blokes."

She rolled her eyes and huffed. "This is ridiculous, George," she said as she crossed her arms across her chest. "You're acting as if you're jealous or something."

George snorted. "Me, jealous? What do I have to be jealous about?"

"I don't know," she replied exasperatedly, throwing her hands in the air, "But you certainly act funny whenever I mention him."

George let out a derisive noise that sounded like _pfft_. "I most certainly do not."

"Whatever. So you're fine? I'll be back later, probably in the evening after I've finished my rounds."

"Right. Bye then."

"You're not going to tell me to have a good time?" she said, a little smirk playing on her lips. He stared her down, his face emotionless. "Knew that was hoping for too much. Well, goodbye." She closed the door behind her and in the moment she cleared the doorway, before the door swung shut, he caught a glimpse of Gastrell waiting for her, looking like he had just stepped out of a catalogue. George spun around and hurriedly picked up his quill.

_I AM NOT JEALOUS. Where does she even get off saying that? Why on earth would I be jealous of a complete git like Gastrell? I am anything BUT jealous of him. He's probably got her thinking he goes around kissing babies and saving puppies or some nonsense. Sure, she looked lovely today but that prat doesn't deserve her at all. She is too nice and too caring and too smart for the likes of him. Although she isn't all that smart currently, going after him. But honestly, ME jealous of HIM? If you could hear me currently, I'd be laughing at her. What complete rubbish. Me, jealous of him. Ridiculous._

…

"Here's your Earl Grey and your madeleines."

"Thank you," she said with a smile as he sat down on the other side of the small circular table.

"You know, I've been here many times and never actually tried a madeleine."

"What? You're kidding!"

"No!" he said, smiling over the rim of his steaming mug of coffee.

Hermione grinned and hurriedly picked up one of the shell-shaped cookies and handed it to him. "I promise you, Simon, you will become addicted."

He gave her a disbelieving grin and slowly ate a piece of the cookie. She smiled as she practically saw the cogs turning in his head. He swallowed and grinned at her. "That is remarkable."

"I told you!"

"And why have I never tried those before, again?"

"Maybe because you don't take the time to notice the inconspicuous little cookies?"

"Maybe because I just needed the right person to open my eyes," he said with a grin and a wink. She blushed and looked down at her tea, pouring cream into it and watching it billow and spread through the translucent liquid. Suddenly, a memory of the day before popped into her head.

"_You know, you are a complete slob sometimes," she said, picking up crumpled balls of parchment that littered George's room._

"_Oh hush, you're going to throw off my groove."_

"_What groove?" she said, laughing. "You've thrown away more papers than you've kept."_

"_Oh hush," he reproached her without looking up from his work, though he was still smiling. "I am in the middle of a creative process. Designing world-renown inventions is not as easy as it looks." _

_She walked up behind him and stood over his shoulder, watching him sketch. He was a marvelous artist - he was not drawing portraits or scenery, but rather the splendid inventions that he dreamt up, each delicate stroke of the quill making the drawing so vivid and detailed, it seemed about ready to jump off the page. He turned his head to see her face inches from him, engrossed in examining his drawing. Her eyes flicked to his and a handsome grin spread across his face. He winked at her._

"Hermione?"

"Huh?" She tore her eyes up from her now murky tea to see Simon watching her, a questioning look on his handsome face.

"Did you hear what I said, or did I lose you for a moment?"

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry."

He smiled at her. "No problem. Not getting enough sleep?"

She chuckled. "Do healers ever get enough sleep?"

"You make an excellent point."

"So what were you saying that I unfortunately missed?"

He grinned at her. "Oh I was just talking about the new book on curing memory loss. It's a fairly odd…"

Hermione listened and nodded, smiling, her mind drifting between Simon talking and memories of the past month.

…

…

Hermione and George landed a little ways away from the Burrow, right in the middle of a snowdrift.

"Ugh! HONESTLY? COME ON!" she cried.

George chuckled as he watched her try to pick up her foot from under the snow that was up to her knee, resulting in her other foot sinking a few more inches into the snow. "Need help?"

"No! I've…got…this…oh…bugger," she said between attempts to get out of the snow. "Oh god, it's in my boots. Oh, my toes are freezing."

George burst out laughing. "Oh come on," he said with a grin and bent his knees, his back to her.

"What?"

He looked around and she was staring at him as if he had just grown a second head. "Jump on!"

"WHAT?"

He laughed at her shocked expression. "Get on my back, Hermione."

"But I-"

"Come one, then." She moved forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, and gave a little hop, almost falling back to the ground, but George caught her in time, looping his arms under her legs. Without warning, he took off through the snow, Hermione half-laughing, half-shrieking with fear as he ran, pell-mell, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her cheek resting against the place where his ear used to be. They finally made it to the door of the Burrow and the door swung open before he had a chance to let her down.

"Well, hello there," said Harry, a grin on his face as he saw the two of them, both grinning, their cheeks and noses bright red from the cold. He moved to the side, letting them in, and George let Hermione down, who hugged Harry as he laughed at their antics. "What was that all about?"

"Hermione just realized the downside to being on the petite side when it comes to getting out of snowdrifts."

"I am not short!" she cried indignantly.

"Of course you're not!" said Harry, hugging her quickly and winking at George over her shoulder. "Come on in; everyone's in the living room right now."

…

After dinner, everyone was back in the living room. Bill was talking to Mr. Weasley and Percy about the new restrictions at Gringotts in the corner by the fire, all the while constantly looking over and checking on his wife, who was four months pregnant. Fleur was busy talking to Mrs. Weasley about ideas for what to do when the baby arrived, while Harry and Ron talked about Ron's last game and the new chaser that had been added to the Cannons, debating whether it was a good recruitment or a possible detriment to the team. George watched from his place on the couch as Hermione slowly rocked a drowsy Teddy, who had turned one a few months ago, a look of quiet reverence on her face as she watched the baby in her arms, his little fingers holding onto one of her curls.

"She's good at that, isn't she?" said a quiet voice next to him. He looked over to see Ginny sitting on the arm of the couch, watching the maternal scene with a small smile on her face. "If she wasn't so busy, I'd ask her to babysit."

"Needing a hot date with your fiancée?"

Ginny chuckled. "Far from it. We'd just like some uninterrupted sleep. I don't think I've had a full night's sleep in over two years." George patted her leg and she leaned into his side. "So how have you been?"

He hesitated for a second, tettering on the edge of telling her everything. Besides Fred, he had always been closest to Ginny. She had always been the most understanding, but shared their devilish streak, which he and Fred had honed as she grew up. At the last second, he decided against it. Knowing her, she would react with some loud outburst and would end up alerting the rest of the family. "I've been okay. Designing new products, meeting with people, you know."

"So how are you and Hermione?"

His head whipped around and he stared at her, his eyes wide. "Wh-what?"

Ginny saw his expression and faltered. "You-you're not-? I just assumed-, the way you two act together-, I just thought-"

"You thought we're dating?" he whispered, not wanting Hermione to hear.

"Well, you two sure are closer than you used to be, and you're the only one that's been able to actually get her to Sunday dinners, so I just thought-"

"No, no we are not dating," he said, cursing the heat he inexplicably felt rising in his cheeks.

"Then how-"

"Unlike you three, who have ridiculously busy schedules, with you and Ron doing professional Quidditch and Harry playing stay-at-home-dad, I own my own business, so I can leave whenever the hell I want. So we've been hanging out. You know, trying to make sure she retains her sanity and doesn't become a recluse."

Ginny chuckled. "Well, thank you for that, then. And I expect you to bring her around for Christmas and New Year's. Even if you two aren't dating." She grinned at George and he knocked his shoulder into her side, almost knocking her off the side of the couch.

"Oi!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** This chapter took longer than I thought it would to write because I was so tired I had to reread to make sure I didn't screw up anything major. I hope you enjoy! Not Rowling.

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"That is complete bollocks."

"It is not!"

"Yes it is!"

"NO, it is not!"

"There is no way you told off Trelawney and walked out of her class."

"Why is that so hard to believe?" Hermione half-laughed from her perch on the table, where she sat with her legs crossed, her trainers discarded on the floor.

"Because you're YOU! Nice socks, by the way," he added sarcastically.

She looked down and wiggled her bright yellow toes. "I like them! And what does 'being me' have to do with that?"

He looked at her in disbelief before assuming a look of mock confusion. "Let's see. Why is it odd that Hogwart's resident bookworm and overachiever, who practically lived at the library and worshipped McGonagall, left a class?"

"Oh come on, you don't have faith in me?" she teased.

"Oh, I'm sure there's a bad girl hidden down in you somewhere," he said with a wink, making her cheeks go somewhat pink. Right then, there was a knock on the door and a man poked his head inside.

"Ah, I thought I would find you here," said Simon, flashing a smile worthy of a toothpaste commercial. "Sorry to intrude, but I just wanted to say goodnight, as I'm clocking out."

"Goodnight, Simon. See you tomorrow," said Hermione with a smile and a small wave. He flashed another smile her way before turning and nodding his head once at George, who was sitting on the bed and watching the intruder with a look of barely-hidden disapproval on his face. He ducked out from the room, the door shutting behind him. Hermione turned her head, her eyes landing on George's face. "WHAT?"

He shook his head. "You'll see I'm right." She rolled her eyes, now quite used to hearing him abuse Simon for the past month and a half. She took one of his rejected designed, balled it up, and chucked it across the room at him. "OI!"

She grinned before straightening her legs and sliding herself off the edge of the table. "I best be getting back to work."

George sighed dramatically and fell back onto the bed, the back of his hand on his forehead. "Well, if you must leave me!"

"I must," replied Hermione with a grin. "And who knows, hopefully you'll be out of here by the new year."

"Trying to get rid of me, are you?"

"Trying to heal you, you nutter. I'll see you later."

"Bye, Hermione," he called as she headed to the door. She looked back and smiled at him.

"Bye, George."

…

_Lee, _

_I have an idea, and one I think you'll like. If not, I'm still recruiting you. Either way, get on over here and bring the inventory list for the store. Thanks._

_George_

…

_Tap tap taTAPtap taptap._

George opened the door and saw his best friend grinning at him. "I can't believe you remember the old knock!"

Lee pretended to look offended. "Not remember our sacred, super-secret knock? What do you take me for?"

"I humbly apologize, my dear sir," George said in an affected tone, bowing deeply and sweeping off an imaginary hat.

Lee nodded in approval before heading over to the table and sitting down. "So why did you want me to bring the inventory list over? I've been doing the checks and you've been managing the corporate side of the business from here, so…"

"I have an idea."

"Obviously."

"Don't interrupt."

"My input is highly important."

"Hush."

"Piss off."

"Naff off! Now let me talk." They grinned at each other before George continued. "So you know that bloke-"

"Gastrell."

"-that I hate-"

"Gastrell."

"-that's been going after Hermione-"

"Gastrell."

"Gastrell. Wait, how'd you know?"

"Mate, it's all you talk about. How much of a prat he is, how he's tricking Hermione, how she's too good for him…"

"That is not ALL I write about!"

"Well, it's a good paragraph or so in every letter, and sometimes the reason you're writing is shorter than your whinging about him."

"That is not true." Lee raised an eyebrow and looked at him seriously. "Okay, maybe that's true, but ANYWAYS…"

"Go on."

"I think he needs a bit of a reminder that not everyone in this hospital thinks he's marvelous."

Lee's face split into an evil grin. "I understand now. So," he said, unfurling the inventory list with a flourish, "what is going to be in our artillery?"

…

"Well hello, Marie," he said, letting just a tad of his flirtatious tone come out. The stunning, Amazonian nurse looked up and smiled at him.

"Hello, Healer Gastrell," she replied with an impressively even, almost unconcerned tone.

"I was wondering if I'd be able t-" _CRASH!_ Before he finished his sentence, someone had crashed full-on into him and knocked him to the floor. The culprit was sprawled on the floor a few meters away, slowly getting up and dusting himself off.

"I'm sorry about that. In a rush; not looking where I was going. No harm done, eh?" he asked, sticking out his hand to shake once they had both regained their footing and composure. Simon eyed the man - younger than him but only by a few years, tall and muscular, and potentially imposing if it hadn't been for the bright smile on his face. Simon shook hands with the clumsy stranger, deciding this was not a man who he could easily intimidate. The man picked up his belongings that had spilled across the floor as Simon turned back to the nurse.

"The O'Ryan chart?" she asked, a thick file already in her hand.

"Uh, yeah," he said, uncharacteristically unsure, unprepared for a nurse to be so indifferent towards him. He heard the man finally stop moving and he turned around to face the stranger in time to see him flash a smile and a wink at Marie, her chocolatey skin darkening as she blushed furiously and smiled shyly at him. Simon frowned. 'Check her off the list,' he thought to himself, mentally cataloguing Marie as one of the few women in the hospital who was seemingly immune to his charm. As he walked away and towards Mr. O'Ryan's room, he flexed his right hand, which suddenly seemed to ache. 'Must have landed on it when I fell,' he thought as he rubbed his fingers together, too involved in his thoughts to notice the miniscule purple lines beginning to show, starting at his palm and winding around his finger and twisting around his arm like a vine of jasmine, so delicate it was almost unnoticeable.

…

_Fred,_

_So Lee and I decided to teach that bastard Gastrell a lesson. A few, actually. I hope he doesn't notice the effects for while – it would be so much funnier that way. Hermione might not find it very funny, but she's too busy being deluded by his fake do-gooder persona to see how much he deserves this. Lee says I'm getting a little obsessed with getting rid of this guy. He said it might be because I have feelings for Hermione, which is complete rubbish. I do not have feelings for Hermione. I mean, sure, we've become friends in the past, what, almost two months that I've been here. And yeah, she's saved my life a couple times now and in this past week and a half, I haven't had a single thought about killing myself, which I think is a pretty big thing. But all that doesn't mean I have feelings for her. I mean, I don't want to sound harsh. It's not like I'm not attracted to her; she's an attractive person and I'm sure loads of people are attracted to her, unfortunately including that Gastrell bloke. She's lovely; a lot different from the bossy girl we knew at school. She's really grown into herself. Not only in looks though. I mean, she has there too – she's a bit taller and she's got a surprisingly nice body that I'm sure no one knew was under those heavy robes at school. Oh, and that nest of a hair she had at school calmed down, or maybe she does something to do it to fix it, but whatever the case may be, she is rather pretty. But even though she's essentially the same person that she was before, she had changed in some regards. Like she's not as bossy or uptight anymore; she does have her moments of flying off the handle and going berserk, and we have had a few shouting matches, but overall, she's a lot more fun to be around. When I get out of here, and considering how I've been doing, I might be able to be back home and back to work soonish, I think I'd still like to spend time with her. I really enjoy her company and she makes me smile, a real smile, not the fake ones I have been putting up for the family for the past year and almost a half. She has this uncanny way of knowing when I'm faking and when I am truly happy, and I can talk to her about anything. She knows how to get me to smile, usually from the stupidest thing, but I love spending time with her. I always look forwards to her coming in and "checking up on me," which usually turns into two or three hours of just talking about everything and anything. Dear Merlin, I wrote a lot! I didn't even notice I had written all this! Hell, I don't even remember what I wrote! Hold on. All this stuff I wrote sounds like I fancy her. Which is so not true. That's completely false. Completely. _

_George_

…

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?"

Hermione stopped on her way from the break room, her green robes looped over her arm, and pressed her ear to the men's bathroom door, from which the shout had come. "Umm, hello? Is everything okay in there?" Before she had time to move from the door, it swung open and she had to move quickly to catch herself from falling. She straightened up and saw an extremely agitated Simon before her. "Simon, are you-"

"LOOK AT MY ARM!" he shouted, obviously panicked. She looked down to see his whole arm was purple. Lines of indigo traced where all his main veins and arteries were, while the rest of the arm was shaded different colors, form lilac to eggplant.

"What happened?" she asked, confused and completely stumped, never having seen something like this before.

"I DON'T KNOW! And it gets worse! It's spreading across my back and chest and it's already moved up my neck." Sure enough, above the lime green folds of the healer robes was a slash of brightest purple. Hermione couldn't help it, she began to giggle. "It's not funny, Hermione!" he cried, busy staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, desperate to find anything that could explain what to do to rid himself of the vibrant shade of violet that was slowly creeping across his body.

After trying all the spells she could think of, to no avail, she apologized to Simon for not being able to help. She headed out, apologizing again over her shoulder at her lack of helpfulness, before rushing back down the hall.

…

George sat, checking over his next prank, when the door flew open and Hermione burst in, already in the throes of uncontrollable giggles. He surreptitiously tapped his product on the table with his wand, disillusioning it as she tried to gain breath.

"You'll. Never. Believe. What. I. Just. Saw."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** Not Rowling.

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_Lee, _

_So prank number one was a success. You need to come over today or tomorrow and see it; it's hilarious. He's completely purple, head to toe, and with his dark hair and bright green robes, he looks absolutely ridiculous. It's marvelous. And to top it off, no one has been able to get rid of it. The hand-to-hand transfer was a genius idea, mate. I think that once we perfect it, we're finally ready to take that product out of testing and market it. Prank Number Two is starting today, but I'll need your help with the third one tomorrow._

_George_

…

As Hermione walked into the break room, her shoulder collided with the shoulder of an unfamiliar doctor who was trying to leave at the same time as she was trying to enter. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she said apologetically. He turned his head and nodded at her, shooting her a warm smile before departing. Hermione was taken aback when he smiled at her, although it had been brief. 'There's something so familiar about that man,' she thought to herself. 'It's like I know that smile.' She watched his retreating back, but there was nothing recognizable about his nondescript black hair or his green healer's robes. Shaking her head, she turned back and headed into the room.

"Hey Hermione," said Simon, pouring the last of the coffee in the pot into his mug. "Want some coffee? I can make you a pot."

"No thank you, Simon. Remember, I don't like coffee."

"Ah, now I remember," he said before drinking deeply from his mug.

"So how are you today?"

"Ja sam radio fino danas. Kako si?" His eyes widened as he realized what he had just said.

"Umm…excuse me?"

"Ik spreek Engels?"

"What?"

"Nini ni vibaya kwa mimi? Kwa nini siwezi kuzungumza Kiingereza?"

As she watched Simon struggle, his face purpling with the effort of trying to speak the right language, Hermione couldn't help it, she began to laugh.

"Ez barre me at! Hau ez da dibertigarria!"

She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle her laughter. "I'm really sorry, Simon. I know I shouldn't be laughing, but this is really funny."

"Tulong sa akin! Ayusin ito!" He gestured to himself and Hermione got the idea of what he was trying to say.

"Help you? Well, I'll try, but I don't know what caused this." She went through all the spells she could think of, but nothing helped. Finally, Simon was forced to go to his superior's office and ask for the day off. As Hermione was heading towards George's room, she heard Simon shouting, desperate to be understood.

"Nid wyf yn gwybod beth ddigwyddodd! Hermione ceisio ei osod! Ni does unrhyw beth yn ymddangos i fod yn gweithio!"

"SPEAK ENGLISH, MAN!"

…

George paced his room, excited and impatiently waiting for Lee, as they were going to do the final prank today. Yesterday's prank – their experimental Speech Sugar – combined with his bright purple exterior was making life at St. Mungo's much more amusing for everyone at the hospital. Although he was finally able to speak English again, his violently violet appearance was hard to miss. Just as George had finished his loop around the room for the seventh time, the door opened and in strut Lee.

"Oi! Where have you been lazing about?"

"I have been doing quite the opposite of lazing about, actually," he said with a self-satisfied grin, flopping onto George's bed and stretching before resting the back of his head in his palms. "You know Marie, the lovely nurse originally from Nigeria?"

"Yeah, she's really nice. Got a wicked sense of humor."

"And a wicked good taste in men," Lee said, still smirking.

"You didn't…"

"Oh, but I did," Lee said with a bright smile. "Eight o'clock tomorrow night, to be exact."

"Excellent!" cried George, high-fiving his friend. "So, are you ready for today?"

"The grand finale? But of course!"

"I guess I'll have to do this one again, as he's seen you now."

"Ah, but now I have an excuse for being at the nurse's station."

"Oh, so you can do it when he's right there! Brilliant!"

"Shall we?"

"Let's go!"

…

"So are you up here again just to see me, or are you trying to distract me so George can wander the ward for a while?" she asked, smiling knowingly.

Lee leaned over the counter and smiled at her, his face only about six inches from her face. "Maybe a bit of both," he said with a wink.

"Oh, don't think you're getting anything before the first date," she said, grinning as she pushed his face away, her hand lingering on his cheek before she withdrew it.

Lee laughed. "Oh, and here I was hoping," he said sadly. She rolled her eyes at him and he took that moment to nonverbally fire the spell at Gastrell, who was backing out of an examination room. Before she had time to notice anything, he was smiling at her again, making pleasant small talk, waiting for Gastrell to approach.

"Hello, Marie," he said pleasantly.

"Hello, Healer Ga-" She faltered as she looked over from Lee to Gastrell and saw bright white words written across his dark purple forehead. _Not bothering to waste my smolder on you._ She coughed, not sure what was going on, and glanced at Lee, who was looking politely confused, although a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Hello, Healer Gastrell," she said, trying to sound as normal as possible.

"Can you get the chart for Mister O'Ryan again? He's claiming to have a relapse." Across his forehead, the words changed to _He seriously needs to stop his whinging._

"Uhh…yeah, hold on." She turned to get it and when he got back, he was surveying Lee. _That's the clumsy oaf who crashed into me._ She frowned and handed the chart to him. As he walked away, she leaned over to Lee. "Should we tell him?"

"Nah, let him figure it out."

…

Hermione had now been on call for the past thirty-five hours and was absolutely exhausted. As she entered the break room, thankful finally able to sit down and have a cup of something, anything caffeinated, Simon walked in, his left cheek quite red.

"One of the nurses just slapped me across the face and I haven't the faintest idea why!" he said without so much as a 'hello.'

Hermione made a noncommittal noise, really not in the mood to hear about anyone's complaints. He sat down heavily across from her and she looked up. Suddenly, it felt as if someone had just punched her in the stomach. _I'm so sick of dating her_, was written across his forehead in white. It changed swiftly and apparently without his notice, as he was too busy nattering on about people acting oddly today. _I could get any girl in this hospital to shag me, but not this one. What a prude._ She gasped, offended.

"What is it, Hermione?" his voice concerned as he smiled at her. _She's not even the sexiest one here anyways._ She started to speak, but her words failed her as the message changed once again. _I only did this to see if I could anyways._

"WHAT?"

"What? What's wrong?"

"You only dated me to see if you could shag me?" she half-shouted, furious.

His eyes widened and he paled slightly to a lighter shade of violet. "What? No, of course not! Where did you hear a ridiculous thing like that?" he asked, his voice affectionate.

"From you actually."

"What?"

"You want to know why you've gotten slapped? Why so many women seem to hate you today? It's because your thoughts seem to have been playing out across your forehead all day. It's rather surprising you haven't noticed since you are so fond of looking at yourself in the mirror," she said acidly as she stood, the chair shooting backwards and falling over. She walked up to Simon and in an instant, her wand was mere centimeters from his perfect nose. He looked terrified, and Hermione felt déjà vu, remembering her threatening Malfoy in their third year in much the same manner. "You can easily go and find some little ditz to fawn over you," she hissed, her voice pure venom, "but you picked the wrong girl to test. You come near me again and I will make sure no woman will _ever_ find you attractive _again_. Do you understand me?" He nodded quickly, almost cross-eyed as he tried to keep her wand in focus. "Good." She stormed out, furious, and was just heading past the nurse's station when she heard someone clapping. She spun around to see Marie applauding her.

"I'm so glad someone finally told him like it is. And I'm glad it was you. You're too good for that pig, Hermione."

Hermione was shocked, but smiled at the other woman, who was watching her with a kind of fierce pride. "Well, thank you," she said, somewhat unsure.

"I saw what he was really like. He didn't bother flirting with me like he did with everyone else, so he forgot I was around and let his true self come out."

"Why-" Hermione started.

"I don't like white guys," Marie said with a grin.

Hermione nodded, not really sure what an appropriate answer to that would be. "Umm, well, thank you, Marie." The nurse waved and Hermione, a little taken aback, continued on her path.

…

George was in the middle of talking to Rose when his door flew open and in stormed a furious Hermione.

"Hermione! What's wrong?" he asked, immediately standing up, worried.

She opened her mouth to speak when her eyes landed on Rose, who was still sitting next to George. "Rose, please leave," she said in a voice of forced calm.

"But I-" started Rose, her eyes widening.

"Rose, I need to talk to him alone."

"But I'm in the middle of a conversation here, which you just interrupted." Rose stood up and put her hands on her hips, looking Hermione up and down, clearly saying nonverbally that she better than Hermione.

A chill seemed to spread through the room as Hermione gave the girl the coldest look George had ever seen. "I know you're hell-bent on trying to get into my patient's knickers," she said to the blonde, her voice as smooth as Snape's had been when doling out his worst insults, "but you have a job that, no matter how inept you seem to be, is required of you. I am on my last nerve and this is my _final_ warning, Rose – you come visit _my patient_ one more time without direct orders from a superior and I will make sure something happens to you that is infinitely worse than what Simon is going through currently. Now, I will ask once again and not a single time more – Rose, could you please leave?" She smiled at the blonde, a sweet smile that was more threatening than if she had yelled and screamed. The color drained from the girl's face and without so much as a glance back at George or a goodbye, she hurried from the room, fearing for her life. Hermione closed her eyes as she heard the door shut, still breathing deeply.

"That was amazing, Hermione," breathed George. If he hadn't been exceedingly attracted to Hermione before, he certainly was now. He couldn't explain why, but seeing her basically fighting over him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes blazing, was impossibly sexy.

"I hate him," she whispered, her eyes still closed, her lips pressed together tightly, as if she was trying to hold herself together.

"What happened? What did he do to you?" he asked, hurrying over and guiding her over to the bed, where he sat down next to her.

"Apparently, all day he's had whatever he's been thinking scrolling across his forehead like a theater marquis or something and when he was sitting with me it said that he was sick of dating me because I am a prude and wouldn't shag him. And that I wasn't sexy and he's only been like this towards me because he wanted to see if he could. Like I'm a piece of furniture he wanted to try and see if he liked the feel of it," she spat, furious tears rolling down her cheeks.

He hugged her to his chest and rubbed her back. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I knew he wasn't a good guy. But I'm so sorry you had to find out like this. That's just terrible." To be honest, when he and Lee had planned this, he had never thought about what might happen if Hermione encountered Gastrell during the day. The idea that he might hurt her had never crossed his mind and, although everyone knew what kind of a person Gastrell was, he felt terrible, knowing Hermione had gotten hurt in the process. "I never meant for you to get hurt," he whispered.

"What?" She pulled her head up from his chest and looked at him, a furious look on her tear-streaked face.

'Shite.' "I-"

"You did all of this? All of the pranks?"

"Well, Lee and I-"

"So you're the reason this happened today?" She stood up from the bed, staring at in angry disbelief.

"Yeah, but-"

"George! Do you know how awful that is? How many people he hurt today? All because of you!"

"Hey!" cried George, standing up as well. "I did not make him think all those terrible things! I did not make him hurt a single person. All those cruel thoughts were his. We wanted to make sure everyone knew what kind of a person he was, and I never meant for you to get hurt. To be completely honest, it never crossed my mind that he would think anything remotely awful about you. And I'm sorry, but, to be utterly honest with you, I'm glad you know what kind of a person he is." He paused, but Hermione said nothing. "Would you have rathered continuing and maybe falling for someone like that?"

"No," she said quietly, so quick it was like the comment had been a knee-jerk reaction. After a long pause, she mumbled, "The language thing was rather funny." She looked up at George with a little smile.

"How frustrated did he get?"

"Really frustrated," she said, trying not to smile and failing.

"And the purple thing's good, isn't it?"

Hermione's smile grew. "How long is it supposed to stay?"

"Somewhere between three and twelve days." Hermione's head shot up and she looked at him, shocked. "It's still experimental." A laugh burst through her lips and her hand shot up to her mouth.

"Hermione?" She looked at him, her anger seemingly dissipated. "Are you still mad at me?"

"No," she said softly. "I guess, in a way, you helped me. And I guess you were right all along."

He resisted the urge to shout _TOLD YOU SO_ but couldn't hold back the smile that was fighting to appear on his face. "Still mad at him?"

"Of course!"

He laughed and walked forward, wrapping his arms around Hermione's shoulders and hugging her tightly. He felt her arms wrap around his waist as she hugged him back.

"Hey Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you come to the Burrow for Christmas?"

"George, I have to go with you when you leave the hospital."

"But if you didn't have to, would you still come?"

Her arms dropped from around his waist and they broke apart. She was smiling at him, a soft smile that made her eyes twinkle. "Of course, it's my home."

.

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**Author's Note:** In case you're wondering, the languages he speaks are (in order): English, Croatian, Dutch, Swahili, Basque, Filipino, and Welsh. And translate what he's saying for you? Well, that would be too easy! ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** MAJOR props to clearwaterangel for coming up with a Chapter Nine plot twist so hilarious and creative I wish it had actually been how the chapter had gone! Not Rowling.

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With a _crack!_, they landed in the middle of Hermione's flat. Hermione dropped his hand and made her way out of the room, calling over her shoulder, "I'm going to go get ready. Just make yourself comfortable."

George looked around the room, fascinated. He had never been here before and it was like walking into the inside of Hermione's head. Books were everywhere – on shelves that lined the walls, on tables and counters, on the sofa and armchairs. The sitting room was a sunny yellow color that seemed to make the room even brighter than the sunlight streaming in made it. The flat was small, but in a comforting, cozy kind of way, with a small kitchen, breakfast nook, and sitting room with mismatched and well-loved furniture. This surprised George, who had expected Hermione's home to be filled with everything matching and spotless. On the contrary, the house was clean but obviously lived-in, with wellies next to the front door, a forgotten empty mug or two, and a sweater lying over the arm of a chair. He heard the water turn on for the shower and used the time where he knew she would be otherwise occupied to look at the rest of the flat. He headed down a small hallway and came to a door. Upon opening it, he found a small linen closet. He closed it, unsatisfied, and moved to the next door. This he had not been expecting. The room was a sky blue with a white ceiling and molding, a mahogany bed covered with a leaf green quilt in the center of the room, giving the impression of a forest surrounded by a cloudless sky. He silently looked around her bedroom, trying to see what secrets it might tell about its occupant. Around the room were photos hung up – some of her with Ron and Harry, a few with her and Ginny, one with Dumbledore's Army, one with the remaining members of the Order of the Pheonix, and one with him and Fred. He hadn't even known this picture existed. He moved closer to the picture that hung near her full-length mirror. It must have been taken at the Quidditch World Cup, right after the match. In the background, Ron scowled, his arms crossed, as Harry howled with laughter next to him. In the foreground, Hermione sat in the middle of the tent on the arm of one of the armchairs in which sat Ginny, who kept stealing glances at her future fiancée. Fred and George seemed to me enacting something that was making the girls laugh, Hermione especially. Then George remembered: he and Fred had been singing, making fun of Ron, who could talk of nothing else besides Victor Krum. As George looked at the picture, he chuckled at his brother's image, who was clutching his heart dramatically and staggering about. Then his eyes moved to himself, and he started, having completely forgotten what had happened then.

"_Victor, I love youuuuuuuu!" Fred sang at the top of his lungs._

"_Victor, I dooooooooooo!" George sang, dramatically dropping to his knees and grabbing Hermione's hand, and pulling it to rest on his chest, pantomiming the exaggerated pain of love. Hermione blushed, her sparkling eyes streaming as she laughed loudly and unashamedly. As Ginny laughed at their antics, George rose up and, with a wink, kissed Hermione's hand before returning it to her and continuing with the next line of their made-up song._

He smiled at the memory and turned to look at the rest of the room. At the foot of the bed, some clothes were set out. As he moved forward to see what they were, he realized it was a lacy cream bra and matching underwear. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck as he looked at these and, after hearing the water turn off, decided that it was best that he probably leave her room. He headed quickly and quietly to the sitting room and decided to pick up a book and thumb through it while he finished waiting. She had taken her orders from the hospital seriously and decided that they needed to both get ready for Christmas dinner at the Burrow, so they would each get ready while the other waited for them. As he had gone first, after checking on the store, which was closed for the day, he was now waiting while she showered and got ready. He heard padding footsteps and willed himself not to look up. Not that he wanted to see her in a towel or anything. He was just trying to be polite. That was all. After about five or ten more minutes and much flipping through a cookbook that had been lying around (he had only been looking at the pictures), Hermione came out of her room. She was wearing some jeans and a black t-shirt, and was in the midst of pulling on one of her Weasley sweaters, on which a blue letter H stretched rather snugly across her chest. Her hair, so usually up and away from her face, was a mass of bouncy curls that kept falling into her face. He smiled as he stood, setting the book back down on the couch.

"You ready to go?"

"Yup," she said, and held out her hand. "Let's try landing on the front steps this time, yeah?"

He chuckled and turned on the spot, pulling them into the place between time and space.

…

They landed on the front porch and George's hand shot out immediately as he saw Hermione lose her balance and begin to fell backwards. He splayed his hand across her lower back and pulled her forward, pressing her against his side to make sure she was steady. She laughed nervously and thanked him. He moved his arm from her back just as the front door opened and Ginny smiled at them, her eyes immediately flicking to George's arm, which he was just pulling back to his side.

"Happy Christmas, you two! Come on in!"

"Are we the last?" asked Hermione, walking in and depositing her wellies next to the door.

"Oh no, Charlie still isn't here, but no surprise there. And Luna just got here, so you're fine with timing."

George followed behind the two women, his eyes travelling the kitchen, all his senses taking in the sumptuous dinner that was being prepared. As his eyes traveled, they landed on Hermione. Hermione's bum, to be exact, which he noticed was really rather nice. 'WHOA! You were _not_ just looking at her bum. You were not. You have no inclination to do so. No no no,' he thought, chastising himself silently.

…

Ginny looked around, making sure everyone was busy before leaning over to Hermione. "So, how are you and George?" she whispered. She knew full-well they weren't dating from George's reaction last time, but they acted so much like a couple, unintentional or not, that it was hard to believe his denial. Hermione started and looked around at her.

"What?"

"How are you and George doing?" Ginny asked, an innocent smile on her face.

"How do you mean?" asked Hermione, clearly confused. Ginny smiled at her and was about to speak when realization seemed to hit Hermione. "You think we're dating?" asked Hermione. Although the surprise and incredulity could be heard in her voice, a pink blush was creeping up her neck and across her pale cheeks.

"You're not?"

"No!" said Hermione, starting to squirm with embarrassment, probably because she was blushing furiously now.

"Oh gosh, Hermione! I'm sorry, I just thought-, you know, because you two are so close and you're always together."

"Oh no, we're just friends," Hermione said, almost a little too quickly.

"Are you attracted to him?" Ginny asked, her voice almost inaudible now.

Hermione's blush deepened, completely ruining any hopes she might have had of staying cool in front of Ginny. Ginny tried not to grin as she waited for Hermione's answer. She had gotten a few letters from Lee about George's oddly obsessive behavior with getting rid of Gastrell and his need to bring Hermione up in almost any conversation, knowing that if he had noticed anything between them, Ginny was bound to have noticed it and more. Personally, she thought they would make an adorable couple, and was happy to try and push the relationship along until that thought became a reality. Harry would have said she was being nosy, which was exactly why she hadn't mentioned her plans to her fiancée. "Well," started Hermione, who was clearly trying to keep her tone breezy, "he is good looking, you know, empirically attractive, and we've become good friends."

"You didn't answer my question," replied Ginny with a grin.

Hermione sighed, aggravated. "Why are so keen on knowing my answer?"

"Because I think you two are perfect for each other!"

Hermione burst out laughing. She snorted as she tried to get her words out. "Y-you think we, George and I, are _perfect_ for each other?"

"Yes, I do," said Ginny, matter-of-factly. "Now answer my question, completely honestly, too."

Hermione stopped laughing and looked across the room at George, who was helping his mother bring empty plates and mugs back to the kitchen, grinning and cracking jokes as he did so. Ginny watched her best friend's contemplative expression as she watched George, and saw a smile spread across her face and light up her eyes when he smiled at her as he passed. That was all the answer Ginny needed, but she decided to keep quiet about it. "Umm…," started Hermione hesitantly, "To his personality? Yes, for the most part. He's a lot different than the boy I knew, or at least I thought I knew, at Hogwarts. And like I said, he's empirically attractive, and many of the staff at St. Mungo's would agree with that statement."

"Why does the staff at St. Mungo's know what he looks like?"

"He visits occasionally," Hermione said simply.

"Well, sorry for butting in to your affairs, Hermione," said Ginny, trying to sound and look as apologetic as possible. "You know I'm always a bit nosy, but I come by it honestly," she said, gesturing to her mother, who was pestering Charlie about his single status. The two girls laughed and after a few minutes, Hermione excused herself. As she got up from the sofa and walked out of the room, Ginny sought out her brother's face, watching as his eyes followed Hermione out of the room, his brow furrowed and his foot bouncing, as though he was itching to follow her. Ginny sighed. They obviously liked each other quite a lot and were simply refusing to accept it. She shook her head. 'They are so clueless.'

…

Hermione opened the front door and slipped outside, pulling on a coat she had found by the door. She thought it was Ron's but knew he wouldn't miss it for a while, as he was inside with Luna and the rest of the family. She walked along the porch, staring out into the dark night. She watched the snowflakes drifting down from the heavens, as bright as fireflies in the light of the moon that had just peeked out from behind a cloud. As she held the coat close to her body, she thought about what Ginny had said. _"Are you attracted to him?"_ 'Well, the true answer was yes,' she thought as she watched the crescent moon slip behind another cloud, bathing the scene in utter darkness once again. She was attracted to him. He was fun, intelligent, and made her laugh. She could have an intelligent conversation with him, talk about the deeper, darker things most people kept hidden even from themselves, but could also joke about the stupidest things. She enjoyed his company and, even though she was glad he seemed about ready to leave the hospital, she would miss seeing him every day and hearing his silly commentary on her day. _"Are you attracted to him?"_ Physically? She hadn't been lying when she said he was empirically good looking. 'Tall, muscular, and a smile constantly tugging on the corners of his lips? Who wouldn't find that attractive? And he had nice hair, the kind of hair you wanted to run your fingers through and play with.' Without really noticing, her coherent thoughts had started drifting away into a kind of daydream, in which she ran her fingers through his hair, felt his hands around her waist as he-

She heard footsteps behind her, which snapped her immediately out of her reverie. She turned to see a very familiar redhead walking up to her. He stopped next to her and did not look at her, but at the stars above.

"They're beautiful, aren't they? I love cold, clear nights like this when you can see every star."

"Well, technically, you can't see every star. Most are too far away to be seen with the naked eye."

George looked over at her, an amused smile on his face. "You couldn't just leave that poetic moment alone, could you?"

She grinned at him and he teasingly bumped his shoulder into hers. She moved to bump him back, but he had turned, probably to go back inside, and she collided with his chest. She looked up to see his face close to hers, a look of shock registering on it that probably matched hers. Neither moved for what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds. Hermione felt her heart rate suddenly pick up and her breathing became slightly shallow. Those few seconds of her daydream kept replaying in her mind and she unconsciously looked at his lips as she bit her own. She saw his tongue flick out and lick his lips as he looked at her. He seemed to bend his head down by the slightest amount and Hermione's breath hitched. His eyes widened suddenly and a nervous look came into his eyes. He backed up, his eyes still glued to Hermione's face, his eyes flicking down to her lips every few seconds.

"I, umm, came to check that you weren't too cold. Are you alright?" His voice shook slightly, as if he was trying to catch his breath.

Hermione felt like she had been hit with a ton of bricks as a thousand thoughts flooded her mind. "Umm, no, I'm fine," she said, trying to sound as normal as possible. "Thank you though."

He smiled at her, although his eyes kept flicking down to the lip she was now biting. "Okay. Well, I better get back inside. You should come in soon – the Healer shouldn't catch a cold." He shot her a wink and turned, heading back inside.

Hermione turned and stared out at the blackness in front of her, clutching the railing of the porch tightly in her frozen hands. Had they almost kissed? And more seriously, _why was she suddenly upset they hadn't?_


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: **Not Rowling.

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"So, Mr. Weasley, I assume you know why I've asked you to meet with me?" the man asked, shuffling some papers unnecessarily on his desk.

"Awarding me my 'Patient of the Month' Award?" he asked, smiling innocently. The older man didn't find this amusing. He made a _harrumph_ noise and smoothed his bushy grey mustache before he spoke.

"I am here to ask you about your current status. As I have seen from Healer Granger's reports, you have been improving in the past three months and I am here to talk with you about whether you are ready to leave the hospital." He looked at George expectantly.

George thought for a moment. He had been feeling much better and he hadn't thought about suicide or anything remotely involving it in a few weeks now, which was better than any other time in this past year. He was regularly writing to Fred like Hermione had advised and it made him happy. He got to talk to his brother, write down things he couldn't talk to anyone else about, and imagine what his twin would say, which wasn't difficult because they were so similar. His business was doing better than ever and, most surprising of all, he had found a true friend in one Hermione Granger. Everything seemed to be looking up so far, but a small part of him, actually, quite a sizeable part was reluctant to leave, as it would mean he would not see Hermione every day. She would go back to her life and he would go back to his. Sure, they would probably see each other, but it was not the same as being able to see each other basically every day and talk about, well, everything. Besides Fred, with whom he had shared everything, George was able to talk to Hermione about anything, and she did quite the same with him. Whether it was about his constant nightmares about Fred dying, her frustration with a patient or a coworker, or something in between, he felt a level of comfort with her that was rather unprecedented for him. To give that up? Would wanting to stay close to Hermione be enough to justify lying about his health and sanity?

"I have improved a lot, and have not had any…tendencies for several weeks now, thanks to help from Healer Granger," he said carefully, Hermione's title not feeling right in his mouth. "Although a part of me feels that I still have more to go to being completely alright, I think it's something I could handle on my own, thus making sure you have room for someone who is in Spell Damage for the correct reason." He wanted to smile after that last statement, but all of his thoughts were clouding his mind, and his face, rather than pleasant, held a look of sadness mingled with thoughtfulness. The Healer observed George, his dark brown eyes scanning George, as if looking for injuries, while he played with the simple gold band on his left ring finger.

"You think you still need Healer Granger's help, don't you?" he asked kindly. George's eyes widened, surprised at this comment. "I understand you know her on a more personal level and it is apparent to me that in the midst of this, shall we say, 'medical' procedure, a strong bond has been formed. One I know you are hesitant to break, as is she. When I discussed this same topic with her earlier today, she expressed almost the exact sentiment as you – that you have improved immensely, but she has lingering doubts regarding you leaving. Now, I understand this." George raised his eyebrow slightly, trying not to display his frustration with people that threw around _I understand_ when they truly didn't. The Healer's moustache twitched, as if he had almost grinned. "I'm not just saying that either. I do understand, Mr. Weasley. I have been in your position before and I received help and kindness. It's actually the reason I became a Healer."

George was taken aback by this very personal statement. Before he could stop himself, he asked, "And you didn't want to leave your Healer either?"

The Healer smiled slightly. "I never did." George's eyebrows contracted slightly in confusion but his eyes fell on the Healer's hands, which had been moving the whole time they had been talking. He was spinning his wedding ring on his finger, a nervous habit he had seen in his father since he was a child. Everything clicked into place – he had married her. George mulled everything over. What he said rearranged ideas about the situation for George. What the Healer seemed to be saying was that he could seek out Hermione, hospital or not, and still maintain what was happening here. A small smile appeared on his lips.

"I think," he started, taking a deep breath as he made his decision, "I'm ready to go home."

The Healer smiled at him. "It's up to you, Mr. Weasley. I am, by no means, forcing you out. We will always accept anyone who needs help."

George shook his head. "No, I think I'm really ready to go."

"Well, in that case, I need you to fill out some paperwork for me," he said, pulling out a small packet of papers and handing them over to George. After filling them out, he moved to hand the stack back to the Healer and accidentally knocked over a silver picture frame on his desk.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he said, leaning forward and picking up the picture from the floor. It was a picture of the Healer and another man, both quite young, holding hands and laughing. Matching wedding bands sparkled on their left hands. So he hadn't ever left his own Healer – he had married him. With a small smile, he set the picture back on the desk. "Congratulations, by the way," he said, hoping this was not inappropriate. The Healer smiled and adjusted the frame on the desk.

"Forty two years," he said, looking up from the photo. "I was twenty, just about your age. So I do understand." He stood up and held out his hand, which George shook after standing as well. "We're not going to force you out in an hour, but since you have signed your release form from the hospital, you are to leave by noon tomorrow. If you are ever in need of any help, don't hesitate to come back to St. Mungo's. You can come to my office and skip the front desk, if need be."

George smiled at the man, touched by this kind gesture. "Thank you very much, sir. And I'll definitely think about what you said earlier."

"Please do," he said with a smile.

…

"So you're leaving?" Hermione asked, her voice cheerful, trying hard not to betray what she was actually thinking. She was happy he thought himself well enough to go home, but a part of her really didn't want him to go. Not because she thought he needed to stay for his health, but that she wanted him to stay. Needed him to stay. She couldn't explain it, and it would probably sound ridiculous if she tried, but she was happier with him around. With her crazy schedule and fight to climb the ladder that was St. Mungo's, she had forgotten how good it felt to just complain about whatever stupid thing was infuriating her and laugh about the ridiculous things that happened. With him here, suddenly she had had someone with which she could talk about her day, get all the emotions and stress out of her system, confide her worries, and talk about her dreams. He had made her laugh on the days she really wanted to just scream and pull her hair out, and hugged her on the days she was exhausted to tears. He had taken care of her on the more than several occasions she had accidentally passed out in his room after an extra-long shift. Although she had written to Ginny, Harry and Ron whenever she could, being forced to be with George on Sundays had forced her back to a routine she had long lost – that of simply letting go of the week's stresses, going to the Burrow, and simply enjoying the company of those she loved the most. She had gotten so wrapped up in work that she had forgotten how important all the stupid little things really were, and George had forced her to open her overly tired eyes and see it all again.

"Yeah," he said, his voice sounding somewhat nervous. "Umm…Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

"Umm…I was wondering, well, okay, this is going to sound stupid and I know that, but I have to ask even thought I don't really know how to ask properly, but, umm, well, I was wondering if, even though I'm leaving, if we could still see each other often. I just, I feel better being able to talk to you. It's not really the same talking to Lee. It's just, you've been there the whole time, and you know me, so, umm, yeah," he finished lamely. His cheeks were bright pink and he was suddenly staring at his shoes as if they were about to reveal the mysteries of the world. She felt her leaden stomach suddenly lift as her worries seemed to have been shared.

"Yeah, that sounds good," she said with a smile. "What if we met up twice a week or something? And of course we'll see each other at the Burrow on Sundays, so…how does that sound?"

He looked up and smiled back at her. "That sounds perfect."

…

Hermione walked into George's room, having just finished her rounds for the night. She had come in to say goodnight, but he was already asleep in the armchair, a quill still balanced in his loose hand, his parchment resting on his feet from where it had landed when it had slipped off his lap. She smiled as she saw the peaceful look on his face, so deep in sleep he had not noticed that the ink from the quill had created a fist-sized blot in his trousers. She looked around the room and saw he had packed everything neatly into a box that sat on the table. Next to the full box that held his clothes, she saw a sizeable stack of parchment, each written on so heavily it lay flat rather than curling into a scroll. She moved over and picked one up, scanning it. It started with _Dear Fred_, and Hermione was about to put it back down when her name caught her eye. She scanned the page again and found it, reading the small section, curious what he had written about her.

_So I didn't want to believe Hermione about this writing to you, but after a few days of getting used to the whole idea of writing to you instead of talking to you, I feel really comfortable. Not to sound like a complete poof or something, I think it's nice to be able to write like I'm talking to you. It's been hard keeping everything in; I'm so used to talking to you about everything. It's all really odd here, but I'm thankful Hermione made sure they let me stay. She's changed a lot, Fred. She doesn't seem as bossy or uptight anymore. She actually cracks jokes all the time and she's one for sarcasm. She's actually pretty fun to talk to, which surprised me. She looks quite different now too. I mean, you can still tell it's her, but she's a lot more mature looking, like she's really grown into herself. She's actually quite lovely._

Hermione smiled as she read this and moved to put it back down on the pile when she saw her name in another letter. 'Well, it couldn't hurt to look,' she thought, already feeling guilty, but so curious that she ignored it.

_Hermione's been mooning over some older Healer that works here. His name is Gastrell and I hate him. Not that he's treated me or anything. He's just one of those blokes who knows he's attractive and uses it and uses people to get whatever he wants. All the women here fawn over him and it's bloody annoying. He's not even that good looking. It just bothers me because he's one of those blokes that picks girls up and them drops them after a shag or two, and I don't want anything like that to happen to Hermione. She's too nice to be treated like that._

The guilt of reading these, however flattering and innocent they seemed to be, got to her and she neatly put the letters back as she had found them. She moved over to George and removed the now-dry quill from his hand and cleaned up the stain on his leg. She crouched down to pick up the letter and put it on the table, when her name again jumped out at her, not just from one place, but several places in the letter. Before she had time to think about how wrong this was to read his personal letter to Fred, she began.

_Dear Fred, _

_I don't know what to do. I think I've got feelings for Hermione. Lee mentioned it before, and I wrote to you about it that day. I thought he was absolutely mad, but I think he may have a point. I thought I was just pranking Gastrell because I hated the kind of guy he was and what he was obviously doing to Hermione, but seeing her so upset about how terrible he had been really hurt. I felt so terrible; I had never thought about what would happen if he didn't have the kindest of thoughts towards her. And when she barreled in here and scared that clingy nurse, Rose, out of here, I don't know. It was like a fire suddenly flared up or something. Like I'd suddenly found a whole new way of looking at Hermione. In that instant, with all that anger and what seemed like jealousy, matched with that cool handling, she was just impossibly _sexy_. I can't explain it coherently, but it was like someone had just hit me with a stunning spell or something. And the other night, at the Burrow for Christmas dinner, she disappeared and I went out to look for her, and found her on the porch. She looked so nice, with her cheeks and nose bright red from the cold and her hair flying everywhere. And she bumped into me and we were so close. We stared at each other for long time, and we almost kissed. Not that she made a move, but I kind of unconsciously moved forward and I heard her breath hitch and I, well, I backed off. I just didn't know if it was the right thing to do. I mean, I have no idea if she feels anything for me, and honestly, she probably doesn't because who wants to be with someone who's a five year old half the time and suicidal the other half? I'll tell you – no one. I just can't stop thinking about what might have happened if I hadn't spooked. Honestly, I'll probably never know and that's probably all for the best. That Healer might have found another solution to his problem, but I don't know if it's right. She's too good for me and I know that full well. _

_Well, I suppose after all this, that first statement really sounds ridiculous. I definitely have feelings for Hermione and it's driving me mad. I just think that_

There the letter stopped and the last couple words were wiped out by an ink blot. This is when he had probably fallen asleep and it had fallen to the floor. She set the letter hurriedly on the table, her hands shaking slightly. She couldn't believe what she had just read – a profession of his feelings or at least the existence of feelings for her. And how he had almost kissed her. She sat down on the edge of his bed, watching as his chest rose and fell with each deep breath he took, his head drooped to the side and his hair mussed, revealing the hole where his ear should have been. As she watched him, completely peaceful in sleep, only one question occurred to her – _How did she feel about him?_


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** It's about to get real. Not Rowling.

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Thank you to all the readers who caught my mistake and accidentally called it a patronus.

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Hermione had tried to busy herself with work these past couple days. 'I just want to show I am dedicated without George here and with my full caseload back,' is what she tried to convince herself of, but she knew the real reason was that she was trying to exhaust herself so there was no time to think about what she had read just a few days ago. Unfortunately, as she lay in bed, knowing full-well she would see him tomorrow at the New Year's party Harry and Ginny were throwing, she was forced to confront the situation. As she stared at her ceiling, she decided to go about this the most logical way she could. Therefore, she decided to make a list of pros and cons about George and her possible feelings regarding him.

"Pro," she said aloud to the still room, "He's very caring and he's helped me out when I've gone absolutely mad at work."

'Con,' she thought, 'He came to seek help for suicidal tendencies. That's a bit of a red flag when trying to find someone emotionally stable.'

"Pro – he's terribly funny and can always make me laugh or smile."

'Con – a lot of the time he's got the maturity of a ten year old.'

"Pro – he's grown up a lot in this past year. He's not the same silly boy he was then. Sure, he's kind of damaged goods, but that just gives him more depth of character."

'Con – am I just wanting to _fix_ him, or is it something more than that?'

"Pro – we've become friends, quite good friends, I would say."

'Con – he's just so different from me.'

"Is he, though? I mean, certainly, we are different, but he seems to understand me better than most. I'm more comfortable around him than most people and I look forward to spending time with him."

'So does this mean that I fancy him?'

She stared up at the ceiling, feeling terribly conflicted as she both knew the true answer to this question and desperately wished it wasn't true.

…

With a _whoosh_ and some emerald flames, George stepped out of the enormous kitchen fireplace of Grimmauld Place, his ears immediately assaulted by the sounds of people talking, laughing, and moving about.

"George!"

He turned to see Ginny in the midst of picking up a plate of hors d'oeuveres to bring out to the guests. "Hey, Gin! Don't you look nice! Need any help?" His sister was wearing a dark blue dress that was flattering, but a bit too tight for his liking. Even though she was grown and about to marry, he was still really protective and really uncomfortable with her showing off her body. She would always be the wide-eyed little sister than they had trained to be a troublemaker.

"Hey! Thank you! You're looking quite dapper yourself! And yes, could you grab that other plate for me and follow me out?"

He did as instructed, carrying a bowl of homemade pretzel twists out to the surprisingly numerous guests. He scanned the room after depositing the bowl on a table, seeing many familiar faces from Hogwarts, including Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Luna, who's waist was being held by Ron, as well as others, like Oliver Wood, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet. He hurried over to say hello to his former teammates, weaving his way between the thick clusters of people that filled the room. He was in the middle of talking to Oliver about his new position on the Tornados, when Oliver suddenly started staring at something over George's shoulder, his jaw going somewhat slack. Turning around to face the door, he saw what had stopped Oliver in his tracks. A woman had just walked into the room, so silently that few had noticed her. She wore a hunter green dress that was draped off one of her shoulders, reminiscent of a toga, and floated gently down to just above her knees, the material falling effortlessly into loose pleats, skimming over her curves effortlessly. Her sylphlike legs seemed to go on for miles, despite the fact that she was average height, due to a pair of gold pumps that matched the simple gold earrings she wore. Her normally unruly hair was pulled up in an updo that wasn't too polished, but rather bordering on messy, all the while still looking elegant. Her bright brown eyes searched the room and a bright smile graced her face as she saw someone she recognized. It was Hermione.

"Damn," Oliver said, more an exhale than actual speech. George, who thoroughly agreed, only nodded as his brain had suddenly forgotten how to form words. "Is that Granger?" he breathed.

"Yeah," said George, taking a deep breath, "that's Hermione."

"Has she always looked like that?" said Oliver, who was practically drooling by now.

"She grew up a bit, but yeah. Yeah, she has," he said, an almost wistful tone to his voice.

"You two better close your mouths, or something will fly in," said Angelina, walking over to them. "Let me guess – Hermione?"

"Damn," breathed Oliver again. "I do not remember her looking like that at school."

Angelina laughed. "She's really grown into herself. She's really lovely. Now," she said, grabbing Oliver's hand and giving it a tug, "no more of this ogling or your girlfriend will get jealous." She winked at George before pulling Oliver away. As George was about to turn away, he saw out of the corner of his eye Angelina teasingly punch Oliver on the arm and Oliver duck his head to kiss her. George smiled – he had always known that was going to happen, even though she had dated Fred. He walked around the room, talking to everyone, but somehow always missing Hermione.

…

It was just about midnight and it was getting just a bit too loud and stuffy in the house for Hermione. Although she had had a little bit of alcohol, she had had nowhere near as much as some inside the house, who were now thrice as noisy as when the party had begun. She headed out the back door and stood on the porch, if you could call it that. It was a tiny little thing that looked out on the backyards of the muggle properties, but could not be seen. She had always hated that Grimmauld Place had not had a backyard, which it so sorely needed. After only a minute or so of standing outside, Hermione was starting to get really cold and had just decided to go back inside when the door opened and out stepped George.

"Oh, hello. I didn't know anyone was out here. It's really rather ridiculous in there right now." He smiled that endearing, crooked smile of his and she couldn't help but smile back.

"It really is. I couldn't take it, although it's not much better out here," she said wryly.

He shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. She smiled and pulled her arms through the sleeves, laughing as she saw that it was quite big on her. She looked back at George and the first thing that came to her mind was how handsome he looked tonight. His hair was shorter from what she had seen last, but this cut seemed to suit him more, made him look older and showed off his handsome, angular jaw line. He was wearing dark, well-fitting trousers and a dark grey button down, the sleeves of which had been rolled up to right above his elbows.

"So how have you been, your first couple days at home?"

A thoughtful look appeared on his face. "It's been fine. It's getting used to being alone again that's odd. I got used to seeing y-, everyone at the hospital every day that it's weird coming home from work to a silent flat."

"I understand. It sort of feels unnatural after the business of the hospital, doesn't it?" He laughed and they both fell silent for a moment. "I think we should head in; it's rather nippy out here." He smiled and held the door open for her, stepping in after her to a barrage of sound.

"SIX!"

"FIVE!"

They headed into the main room where everyone was congregated, cheering and shouting happily as their eyes focused on the huge clock over the mantle.

"FOUR!"

"THREE!"

George and Hermione grinned at each other and joined in.

"TWO!"

"ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

…

Everyone began to clap and began to kiss their 'other half' or whoever was around. George and Hermione looked at each other, and he felt a blush burning up his neck and traveling to his face just as he saw Hermione's cheeks turn pink.

"Uhh…well, it's supposed to be for good luck," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling decidedly awkward.

"Yeah, good luck," she echoed, a nervous little smile. "Umm…so I guess…"

"Yeah, I suppose we have to…"

He bent his head down and she tilted her head up, her eyes fluttering closed. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers softly. His hand unconsciously moved to her waist as hers moved to the front of his shirt, her palm pressed against his chest, not as if to push him away, but as if holding him there. Although every fiber of him wanted to deepen the kiss, to hold her close to his chest and continue kissing her, with no regard for air or the people around, he knew he had to stop. It was only him that felt this way, anyways. They were just friends. He broke the kiss that, despite feeling as if it had lasted forever and a day, was actually only a handful of seconds. He moved back slowly from her and watched as her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him. There was a kind of need in her eyes married with a sultry look of lust that he had never seen from her before. It was only there for an instant before she blinked and her sparkling brown eyes were back to a look of mingled happiness and anxiousness that had been there before the kiss.

"Well, good luck for the year, then," she said, a bit of bravado tingeing her tone, as if she was trying to act as though that kiss hadn't just changed everything. 'Well,' thought George, somewhat bitterly, 'for her it probably didn't.'

"Good luck indeed," he said, hitching a grin onto his face and winking at her. She laughed and commented about going to get a drink before walking off, not noticing that she was still wearing his jacket.

…

"So you can take care of that? I hate to ask you tonight of all nights, but it just moved in this afternoon into Teddy's room and I'm too tipsy to do it and he comes back home tomorrow and I don't want him to get scared," said Ginny, her sentences all smushing into one long sentence.

"What about Harry?" Hermione asked.

Ginny began to giggle. "It's actually really funny. He thinks his boggart might have changed forms and he's paranoid and doesn't want to see what it is. He said it's not scary as a dementor, but after the war, he's not sure it will still be that."

Hermione smiled. "Fine, I'll go take care of it right now. In Teddy's room, you said? Where?"

"In the toy box. Which is why we really need it gone."

"Alright. I'll be back!" Hermione smiled at her Ginny before heading out of the room and up the stairs, not knowing that one ear had picked up the conversation and a pair of blue eyes had seen her leave the room. She headed up to Teddy's room, a nursery filled with Gryffindor banners and stuffed animals holding broomsticks, and turned on the lights. 'Trying to brainwash him already, Harry,' she thought to herself with a grin. She saw the toy box in question and opened it with a flick of her wand. She had not expected McGonagall to appear again, telling her she had failed everything, but had been waiting to see her parents, lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling with wide, empty eyes, the victims of Avada Kedavra. Instead, in front of her lay George, pale as the snow falling outside, in a pool of dark, glistening blood, his wrist slashed and his red hair almost brown, stained by the blood pouring from a fresh head injury. She once again felt that feeling of ice cold numbness as she stared at him in front of her, clearly dead. She began to hyperventilate, the part of her brain telling her this was simply a boggart completely occluded by the paralyzing fear that was overtaking her. She felt her knees give way beneath her and she dropped to the ground, tears now streaming down her face as she gasped for air, her eyes fixed on the sight before her.

…

George looked at the clock and frowned. Hermione had been gone for much longer than it was necessary to take care of a boggart. Checking the room once more, but not seeing her, he got up from his chair and started to head upstairs. About two floors up he heard it – gasping, heart-wrenching sobs. He ran up the last few steps, burst through the slightly open door, and immediately felt his stomach drop out of his body. Fred was on the ground, dead. He did a double take and saw the slit wrist, the head injury, the one ear. It was him. It was him dead on the ground.

"Riddikulus!"

His blood-soaked body turned into Fred's, surrounded by the blasted wall, the ghost of his last smile still etched on his face. He took a deep breath and with a wave of his wand, the boggart was no more. He rushed over to Hermione, who was crumpled in a heap on the ground, still staring at the spot where his body had been just moments before.

"Hermione! Hermione! It's okay! It's okay!"

She looked up at him and burst into renewed tears. He sat down on the floor next to her and held her as she sobbed, clutching the front of his shirt in a vice-like grip. As he sat there, rubbing circles on her back and holding her close, he wondered why his dead body was her boggart.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** This chapter was going to be ridiculously too long, so I cut it in half. Hope you like it! And _avidficreader_, I hope these chapters don't resemble yours (which I promise haven't read yet, haha)! Not Rowling.

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Hermione had been unable to meet with George after the start of the new year as she had promised, as the coming of January meant Harry and Ginny's wedding, a majority of which Hermione was organizing, as she was the maid of honor. Mrs. Weasley and Hermione were mainly in charge, following Ginny's whims and Harry's comments with the occasional stern word and rejection of a ridiculous idea, but Mrs. Weasley seemed to be creating more fuss than was necessary sometimes. Ginny and Harry had decided on having a wedding like Bill and Fleur's, with the tent in the backyard of the Burrow. Harry had had only one main request, which was that the men in the ceremony would wear muggle wedding attire rather than wizarding dress robes. Mrs. Weasley thought this was a touching nod to his life growing up in the muggle world, but Hermione knew that this was a plot between Harry and Ron to avoid wearing dress robes, which they abhorred, at all costs.

It was the evening before the wedding and Hermione was hurriedly going through her list of things that had to be done before the big day.

"Okay, all the bridesmaids have their dresses?"

"Yes," replied Luna serenely.

"All the groomsmen have their suits?"

"Yup," replied Ron, an amused expression on his face. "You came with us, remember?"

"I'm just checking, Ronald. Anyways, the tent is being set up for tomorrow, we have the tables and settings, the food is taken care of, the cake is lovely, what am I forgetting?"

"To calm down," replied George with a grin. Her head whipped up from the parchment in her hand and she gave him a stern look that faded once she saw he was smiling at her. "You've got everything taken care of, Hermione. It's okay."

"Excellent! Thank you, Hermione dear. Now, everyone off to bed. We've got a busy day tomorrow and everyone needs to be refreshed and chipper," said Mrs. Weasley before moving about to hug everyone goodbye.

…

Hermione rushed out to the backyard to see that the men in the family were already putting up the tent. "Oh thank goodness!" she exclaimed. Once it was up, she set one table perfectly, showing the men how she wanted it before leaving them to finish setting up. She hurried back upstairs and headed into Ginny's old room. Ginny sat at her desk, staring out the window at the ruckus below as her mother fiddled with her hair.

"Hello, Hermione," said Luna from Ginny's bed. She sat in one of Ron's shirts, which was too big for her slight frame, and her knickers, completely at ease with her lack of proper clothing. "You're after me," she said, gesturing to Mrs. Weasley, who was just finishing Ginny's hair, which was up in an elegant French twist, a few small flowers peeking out from where the hair was pinned. Ginny stood up and vacated the chair, which Luna took, and moved to the extra chair in the room, next to which sat a table covered with makeup.

"You realize you're going to have to actually wear makeup," said Ginny with a wicked grin.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at her friend, who knew she was notoriously apathetic when it came to makeup. "Someone's going to have to do mine, since I hardly do it myself."

Ginny chuckled and stood. "Have a seat, Ms. Granger," she said, her tone darkly amused. Hermione sat, nervous as Ginny shot her an evil grin.

…

George fidgeted as his mother bustled around, making sure everyone was seated and everything was in order. The groomsmen, acting as ushers, had made sure everyone had gotten to their seat and now they were waiting at the entrance to the tent, the old wizard who had done Bill's wedding obviously eavesdropping on Ron's hurried conversation with a nervous-looking Harry. George heard a chuckle next to him and looked over at Bill.

"Hermione is going to be absolutely livid when she sees we've changed what we're wearing without telling her."

George grinned. "Probably, but we can blame Harry. It was his idea to do muggle clothing and to not do suits at the last minute." The brother grinned and Bill gestured to Ron to get to the back of the tent. Finally, the bridesmaids and Ginny joined them. George watched as Hermione's eyes widened comically as she saw what he, Ron, and Bill were wearing. Her eyes traveled over the suit pants and dark shoes, up to the white button-down shirts with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, over which black suspenders lay. The look was finished off with a different tie of green and gold for each of the men.

"What the hell-" Hermione began to cry, but the music cut her off and Ginny shoved her, wordlessly signaling her to stop talking, as Bill and Emilie, one of Ginny's teammates and best friends, lined up and began to head down the aisle. George walked up with Luna, and parted ways as they reached the top of the aisle. He watched Hermione and Ron walk up the aisle, a bright smile on her face. Once they lined up, Ginny and Mr. Weasley headed down the aisle, Mrs. Weasley already sniffing loudly, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. During the ceremony, George amused himself by watching the crowd, finding the occasional nose-picker or someone drifting off, but he then started looking at Hermione. The three bridesmaids all wore emerald green dresses, strapless with a tight bodice and a light, flowy skirt that ended right below their knees, and a pair of simple gold heels. Each girl's hair was different, however. Luna's hair was, for once, straight and flowing down her back, unadorned. Emilie had naturally wavy blonde hair, and not much had been done with it, as it was already lovely. Hermione, however, stood out the most for George. Her hair was down and in loose curls that cascaded down her back. She was wearing makeup, which George hadn't seen her wear since Bill's wedding. She looked lovely. Just as he was thinking this, her eyes flicked over and met with his. Her eyebrow raised and she pointedly looked him up and down before pursing her lips. He adjusted his tie unnecessarily before looking up at her, grinning and waggling his eyebrows at her. She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly, as if silently chastising him. He winked at her and he saw look down as she tried not to grin, a faint blush tingeing her cheeks. He looked around inconspicuously and saw his mother watching him curiously, her eyes flicking between him and Hermione, who was now apparently paying attention to the ceremony with rapt attention. Already thinking this was a danger zone, he turned back to the ceremony and tried to pay as much attention as possible, although his eyes kept straying over to Hermione, who he occasionally caught looking over at him.

…

"You may now kiss the bride."

Harry moved forward but before he could act, Ginny had launched herself forward, kissing Harry with all she had, and after a millisecond of shock, he happily kissed back. Hermione's eyebrows shot up into her hair as she watched her two friends kiss, feeling a little awkward to be one of the many watching this passionate kiss.

"Oi! Save that for tonight!" George said loudly.

"GEORGE!" shouted Mrs. Weasley from the front row. Laughter rippled through the tent and soon almost everyone was laughing. The newlyweds broke apart at his comment, laughing as well. The Ministry official looked scandalized at George's comment and George, backing up slightly, seemed to be trying to avoid getting reprimanded by both the man and his mother.

…

George sat through the speeches, laughing at some moments, breathing deeply and focusing on holding it together at others, but always maintaining a smile, even if it was strained at the mention of Fred. Surprisingly, he was laughing the most during Hermione's speech, which had so far involved much good-humored teasing about Ginny obsessing about Harry when she was young.

"I know I've been teasing them, but I am being completely honest when I say that what they have is something special; something we can all learn from. Their love has showed us that determination pays off," she said, nodding to Ginny, who grinned, "that love can even defy death," she said as she grinned at Harry, who chuckled at her joke, "and that sometimes, the people we love the most are the people that have always been there, the people who know us best – our friends. To Harry and Ginny, a beautiful example of love," she finished, raising her glass and toasting the happy couple. Hearty applause broke out as Hermione sat down, laughing at something Ginny whispered to her a few seconds later. Hermione looked around and George caught her eye. He raised the glass of champagne in his hand a bit higher, silently toasting her. She smiled and did the same before taking a sip.

After some food had been enjoyed and some time had passed, the floor was cleared, creating a dance floor. As soon as Harry and Ginny finished their first dance as husband and wife, more people started trickling out onto the dance floor. George looked around, seeing Ron cracking up and spinning Luna, interrupting her classic arm-waving dance that they had seen so many times. Luna stopped spinning and joined in laughing, giving her boyfriend a soft kiss on the cheek before trying to convince him, once again, to try dancing her way. George shook his head, smiling, and continued looking around. He saw the expected people sitting down, such as Aunt Muriel, who was complaining as usual, but was surprised to see Hermione sitting alone at a table, drinking water from a champagne flute and smiling as she watched the dancers. He got up and was in the midst of heading towards her table when his way was blocked by a stunning woman with white blonde hair and ice blue eyes. He remembered her from Fleur's wedding two years ago. She was one of Fleur's part-veela cousins that he had…ahem…spent time with that evening before everything had gone to hell. 'What the hell is her name?' he thought desperately, immediately smiling warmly at her.

"George," she said happily, her French accent much thicker than Fleur's. "Eet haz been too long! 'Ow are you?"

"Marie," he said with a smile, giving her the traditional European kisses on each cheek, "I'm doing fine. It's nice to see you. You look lovely. How are you?"

"Oh George, you were always ze charmer," she said, smiling at him and batting her eyelashes. "I see you do not 'ave a dance partner, and neezer do I." She moved to loop her arm in his, probably expecting a repeat of last time they had met, but he smiled at her and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Marie, but I was actually just on my way to ask my friend to dance. Maybe later."

She looked crestfallen for less than a second, but she recovered almost instantaneously. "No problem. I weel see you later, zen." She smiled at him and seemed to waltz away, as if floating on air. He continued on his way to Hermione, who was smiling as her middle finger traveled around the rim of her glass, emitting a ringing sound.

"Well, I seem to have found a lovely lady that should be out dancing with a very lucky bloke." She looked up, surprised, to see him grinning at her.

"Hello George," she said with a smile. "Want to join me?" she asked, gesturing to a chair.

"Funny," he said, holding out his hand to her, "I was just about to ask the same thing."


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:** Let me know if you find the nod to Doctor Who in this chapter! Not Rowling.

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"Well, I seem to have found a lovely lady that should be out dancing with a very lucky bloke." She looked up, surprised, to see him grinning at her.

"Hello George," she said with a smile. "Care to join me?" she asked, gesturing to a chair.

"Funny," he said, holding out his hand to her, "I was just about to ask the same thing."

She laughed quietly before taking his hand and following him out to the dance floor. As the made it out, he spun her around before catching her waist, his left hand still holding onto her right. "Don't think you've avoided conversation just because we're out here," she said with a look that was clearly trying to be disapproving and failing miserably at it.

"Fine, shoot."

"I heard from Harry that you're the one that gave him the idea of changing everything at the last minute. Care to explain that?"

"Hey hey hey! I did not change _everything_, thank you. I got warm when we were showing people to their seats and took off my coat and rolled up my sleeves. He thought it looked rather dashing and decided that everyone should look like me, which I most certainly agree with." He laughed as Hermione swatted the back of his head with the hand that was resting on his shoulder.

"Oi!"

"_And _apparently the suspenders were you're idea, as a replacement to the vests I picked out?"

"What? Suspenders are cool! I'm thinking about wearing them all the time. I was going to wear a bowtie as well, but Harry said I had to at least match in regards to the ties." She shook her head, as if exasperated, but she was grinning all the same. "I'd say it's a good look for me. What do you think?"

She stepped back from him and took a good look. "I'd say you look dapper. Dashing, even."

He swooped forward and took her hand in his, spinning her away from him before spinning her into him, his arms wrapped around hers, his chest to her back. "Why thank you!" He spun her around once more so she was facing him and he was once again holding her hand and her waist. "I know all the bridesmaids have matching dresses, but may I say, you stand out from the crowd in the best possible way." A light pink flush began to creep across her cheeks as she looked down, obviously a little embarrassed, though he did not know why. As he looked at her, her happiness radiating and making her more beautiful than she already was, a memory suddenly flooded his mind and, without thinking about any possible repercussions regarding crossing the line they had always guarded in regards to their friendship, he said, so quietly it was almost a whisper, "I think Gastrell was either mad or blind. Or both. Because you're plenty sexy, and just…stunning." As he realized the gravity of what he had just said, and that they had stopped dancing, her head snapped up and she stared at him, shocked. He watched as confusion, shock, and happiness all fought for dominance in her expression. She moved slightly closer to him and parted her lips, about to say something, when George felt a tap on his shoulder and both his and Hermione's heads turned to see Ginny smiling at them, completely oblivious to what she had just walked into.

"You're the only brother I haven't danced with tonight. I think it's your turn." He smiled and turned to Hermione, who was smiling at Ginny, looking as though that moment before had never happened. She hugged Ginny and thanked George for the dance before moving back to her table. As George began to dance with Ginny, his eyes kept searching out Hermione. As she was on her way to her table, she was stopped by someone George did not recognize, a tall man about his age with wavy brown hair and thick-rimmed glasses. He asked Hermione something and she smiled, accepting the hand he had just moved towards her. As they walked out onto the dance floor and the man put his hand on Hermione's waist, George felt a surge of anger rush through him.

"Gin, who's that bloke dancing with Hermione?"

"Oh, that's Thomas. He's our coach's son. He's a real sweetheart; handsome, too."

George made a noncommittal noise and continued to dance, smiling and joking with her, although his eyes kept searching out Hermione, who was dancing with Thomas, a bright smile on both of their faces. At the end of the dance, Mrs. Weasley walked up, demanding a dance with her middle son. As he danced around with his mother, his eye occasionally found Hermione, who was now dancing with another man, this one impossibly tall and blonde.

"Hermione looks lovely today, doesn't she?" said Mrs. Weasley, an innocent smile on her face.

"She does," George agreed.

They were silent for a moment as they spun around before Mrs. Weasley spoke up. "George," she said quietly, her voice lilting up, as if his name was a question.

"Yes, Mum?"

"Why haven't you done anything?" George gave her a questioning look and she continued, the pair of them staying in step as they conversed. "She likes you, George. But she's not going to hang around forever. Obviously, you're not the only one who likes her," she said, nodding her head in the direction of Hermione, who was being offered a drink by a third bloke.

George inhaled, obviously thinking over his words. "I'm not so sure she feels the same," he said quietly, not bothering to deny his feelings for her. His mother was too intuitive; she always knew exactly what was going on.

"Just talk to her, dear. You might be pleasantly surprised." As the song finished, they stopped dancing and she smiled at him before holding the side of his face with her right hand, her palm resting softly against his cheek. "I just want you to be happy, love."

"Thanks, Mum," he said, hugging her tightly. "How do you always know these things?"

She grinned mischievously at him. She turned and, as she began to walk away, she said something that sounded suspiciously like, "I know love when I see it." Shaking his head, sure he had not heard her correctly, he looked around and saw Hermione by herself, finally. He began to walk over, and just then, Hermione turned and looked over at him. She smiled at him and he smiled back, nodding his head slightly to the side, gesturing towards the dance floor. She nodded slightly and began to walk towards him when his way was once again blocked by Marie, a seductive smile on her cherry red lips.

"George, I 'ave waited but now I zink eet ees time to dance." Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the dance floor. His eyebrows contracted as he, too shocked to respond, was dragged towards the floor. He glanced around and his eyes landed on Hermione, whose mouth was slightly open in shock as she watched Marie clasp George's hand in hers and wrapped her hand around his neck, her fingers immediately toying with his hair. George placed his hand on her waist, as was customary, but saw Hermione's lips press together and her face turn a little red, almost as if she was trying not to cry. He felt so terrible, knowing she had been planning on dancing with him, and he was not too happy with this situation either. He smiled as he danced with Marie, but did not make any motion to move things forward with Marie, despite her definite attempts. He could feel her turning on the veela charm, and could feel that inexplicable urge to hold her close and tell her how impressive he was, but something was pulling him away from doing any of this. He knew it couldn't simply be his not wanting to give her any chance to repeat their last time together, because willpower was nothing against a veela, even if she was only part-veela. He looked around and saw Hermione being asked to dance by another man.

'What the hell?' he thought angrily. 'Where are these guys coming from? It's like their coming out of the floor as soon as she's alone.' He tried to see what her reply to the man had been, but a few couples blocked his view, just as Marie shifted, turning him around, so his back was to the general area where Hermione was.

"You are steel a fantastique dancer," Marie purred, moving closer to him, her chest pressing against his.

"Merci," he said absently, "You are as well."

"Why zank you," she said, raising her chin, not even hiding the fact that her eyes were on his lips, her intention clear. She moved slightly forward and before he could fully formulate a way of getting out of this, he felt another hand on his shoulder.

"Darling!" he heard a familiar voice say happily. Marie's head whipped around and looked at the new arrival, obviously furious that someone had interrupted her. George turned his head, supremely thankful to whoever had interrupted this, and saw Hermione smiling at him. "I wondered where you got to! I know you've been dancing with your family, but I think it's about time I get you back," she said, a beautiful smile on her face. She turned to Marie, who was still pressed up against George, and smiled sweetly at her. "Are you one of his cousins? It's so nice to meet you!" She tilted her head to the side, looking innocent, but George recognized the faint, steely glint in her eyes. Internally, his jaw fell open as he saw what Hermione was doing. He knew that look, that sweet smile that just hid the glint of the fangs that came out when she was angry, or worse, jealous.

Deciding to play along, he smiled at her and moved his hands away from Marie. "Hello, love. Actually, this is Marie, one of Fleur's cousins." Hermione's hand slid down from his shoulder to his upper arm, her warm yet feather-light touch making his arm tingle, though he did not know why. Marie removed her arm from around George's neck and backed up slightly, surveying Hermione, the impossibly beautiful smile on her face not reaching her clear blue eyes, which were as cold as ice.

"And 'oo are you?" she asked, her voice smooth, a polite smile on her face. The tension between the two women was so tangible he was sure that if he tried, he would not be able to walk any closer, as the air between them was probably frozen solid by now from the looks they were giving each other.

"I'm Hermione, the maid of honor." Hermione smiled and stuck out her hand to shake Marie's, knowing full well that, as Marie was French, she would expect to do the kisses on both cheeks. George bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh at Hermione's antics and Marie's expression, which was now clearly struggling between a polite smile and glaring at her competition. Marie put out her hand, limp, as if she was expecting Hermione to take it and kiss it, but Hermione took it firmly, turned it, and shook it, shocking Marie. "Well, I hate to cut in," Hermione started, clearly not sorry, "but I do need to get my George back before the end of the night." She smiled at George, who smiled back, desperately trying not to laugh at the anger clearly radiating from Marie.

"It's been lovely, Marie," he said, swooping down and giving her a kiss on each cheek and a quick hug before turning to Hermione. Marie stalked away, still gorgeous in all her anger. "May I?" he said, holding out his hand to her. She smiled and took his hand, resting her hand on his shoulder as he placed his hand again on her waist. There was a moment where no one spoke, but George broke the silence. "_My_ George?"

"I don't like her," Hermione said resolutely, not responding to the question.

"And why's that?" asked George, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"I just don't. She thinks just because she's beautiful she can take anyone she wants, anytime she wants." He saw her frown slightly, her full bottom lip jutting out slightly in a pout.

"It's really funny when you're jealous, Hermione," he said, chuckling as they moved around the dance floor, weaving in and out of the other couples.

"I am not jealous."

"Yeah, like you weren't jealous when you snapped at Rose."

"Well, she's just infuriating," mumbled Hermione.

"So, _darling_," he said, using her word, "where did this all come from then? Because it was pretty marvelous. You have a definite mean streak I did not know was there."

She grinned and looked up at him. "Well, it was my dance she stole, wasn't it?"

"Indeed it was. And that whole thing was just…Merlin, that was just brilliant."

Hermione smirked in a very self-satisfied way. "She may be more beautiful but I'm smarter." She laughed softly, but George did not. He was looking at her, his eyes searching her face.

"Do you honestly think she's more beautiful than you?" he asked quietly, his brow furrowed. They heard the music slow and more couples came out onto the floor, wrapping their arms around each other and beginning to sway to the music. Without thinking, they shifted to match the rest, her hands resting on his shoulders, his hands gently on her waist.

"I know she is," she said wryly. "I mean, she's part veela. She's everyone's perfect girl."

George shook his head, not able to believe what he was hearing. "You're joking, right? Because that is one of the stupidest things I have _ever_ heard." She looked offended and opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off. "Being a veela makes people more attracted to her, certainly, but that's because of _what_ she is, not _who_ she is. Anyone who knew you and knew her would pick you any day. I would." As he heard the words come out of his mouth, his mind immediately went _Oh no, oh no, crossed the line, bloody blew up the line by now, oh bollocks, I've screwed up royally._

She seemed to be examining him, her bright brown eyes scanning his face. She moved her hands from his shoulder and stood, watching him shrewdly. He removed his hands from her waist, thinking she didn't want to dance with him any more after that comment. 'Oh Merlin, I've wrecked everything now. She probably thinks I'm mad,' he thought.

"Did you really mean what you said earlier? About me?" she asked quietly.

His mind whirred and he realized she was talking about his calling her sexy. "Yes," he said, his voice strong, but only loud enough so she could hear him.

"And do you mean what you said now?" Her eyes were again searching his face, as if waiting to see "TRUTH" or "LIE" stamped across his forehead when he answered.

He paused for a moment, knowing that as soon as he answered, the bridge of their friendship would incinerate, the ashes of it floating away on the wind. With this answer, everything they had formed these months could just vanish. He took a deep breath, looking into those penetrating amber eyes, and said it. "Yes."

There was an instant where neither of them moved, neither of them breathed. They just looked at each other. Then, he saw her move forward, her hands wrapping around his suspenders right below his shoulders, and felt himself being pulled forward. He felt her lips on his as he had once before, but this time was completely different. There was no hesitation, no nervousness. She pulled him forward and kissed him with a million times more emotion than last time. He immediately wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Her hands let go of his suspenders and wound around his neck, rising slightly into the kiss as she stood on her toes, even with the added height from her heels. He felt her smile, her lips moving against his, and he couldn't help it, he smiled too. They broke apart and looked at each other, their noses barely touching.

"You liar. And you said you weren't jealous," he said teasingly. She laughed and the hand that was wound in his hair pulled him forward as she kissed him again.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note:** Bravo to Hailee, Amy, Sami, LadyLLib, ilovecupcakes xxx, fluffyandkagura, and anyone else who caught the DW reference in the last chapter. Not Rowling.

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"Excuse me, Harry, but I need to borrow your wife for just a moment," he said, tapping Harry's shoulder. Ginny looked over at him and gave him a questioning look. "It's gonna happen. Like, now."

A beaming smile spread across her face. "Harry, I have to go. I'll be back soon." She hurried over with him to the other side of the dance floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry shake his head bemusedly and walk towards Ron and Luna. "Where? Where are they?"

"Keep your knickers on, woman," he said with a grin. "Here," he said, holding out his hand, "dance with me so we don't look suspicious." Ginny grabbed his one hand and rested her other on his shoulder.

"So how are you sure?"

"Jealousy. Hermione's a jealous bird, and that vela has been hitting on George all day."

"Ooh! Where are they?"

"Right to your left. My right, your left, I mean." Ginny made a happy squealing noise. "Shush!" he hissed, trying not to laugh, as he was as excited as she was. "If we waltz a little this way," he said, spinning her around and across the dance floor, "we will be in hearing range."

"Okay, there's George with Marie, but where's Hermione?"

Lee grinned. "Target approaching."

"Darling!"

Lee and Ginny stared at each other. "What?" exclaimed Ginny excitedly. Lee shushed her, straining to hear what was going on.

"Are you one of his cousins? It's so nice to meet you!"

Lee and Ginny began to snigger. "Look at her face, Lee. Look at her face! Ooh, she's steamed!" They were too busy stifling their laughter to hear the words exchanged, so they simply watched the two women's interactions. It was like watching fire and ice collide, as Marie's icy blue eyes stared down Hermione's blazing brown ones. Hermione said something they missed and stuck out her hand towards the girl, who was clearly confused.

"Does she not know-?" Lee began to ask.

"Oh she knows," said Ginny happily. "She's been to France loads of times. She's just being evil now." Ginny beamed, evidently proud of her best friend's mean streak. They saw Marie back up slightly before George bent down and kissed her on both cheeks. The blonde stormed off, looking angry enough to make this beautiful day erupt into a lightning storm. "Oh, look, they're dancing now. Try and listen."

"_My_ George?" they heard George ask.

"I don't like her," responded Hermione acidly.

"I told you," said Lee happily. "I told you it would be tonight. And you thought it was going to be New Year's."

"No, I said either New Year's or Valentine's Day."

"You are so typical. Come on! This is George we're talking about. He's not going to do it on an expected night."

"But they did kiss on New Year's!" argued Ginny.

"Yeah, but they're not together. It was just a New Year's thing. Also, there was certainly some awkwardness that night."

"You never specified-"

"I did too! They had to get together after George kissed her for it to count. Bollocks, the dance is changing. They better speed this up or Harry's going to kill me for keeping you through the slow song." They shifted to the appropriate position and continued to spy on the couple.

"Oh, he'll be fine! This is for a good cause."

"Stalking for a good cause. I like it," joked Lee.

"Lee! Lee!" she hissed excitedly, smacking his shoulder.

"Oww! Merlin! What? Why are you hitting me?" he hissed back.

"They've stopped dancing! They've stopped dancing!"

"What?" He turned slightly so they could both see Hermione and George.

"Yes," they heard George say.

"What is he saying 'yes' to?" hissed Ginny, quite obviously eavesdropping now. Thankfully, everyone else was too busy dancing and George and Hermione were too far in their own little world to notice.

"And do you mean what you said now?" Hermione asked, obviously watching his face for a reaction, her brow furrowed in worry.

George stared at her for a good five to ten seconds that seemed to stretch on for hours as Lee and Ginny practically held their breath, desperate to hear what was going on. "Yes." No one moved, no one seemed to even breathe. Suddenly, Hermione wrapped her fingers around George's suspenders and pulled him forward, her lips crashing onto his. Lee's eyes widened, and he was sure Ginny's had as well. They watched, all pretense of dancing forgotten, as George wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist and kissed back.

"You liar. And you said you weren't jealous," George said once they had broken apart. Hermione laughed and pulled him forward again for another kiss.

Lee felt his jaw drop. "Did that just-?" He looked over, wide-eyed at Ginny, who was staring, open-mouthed at the couple kissing only a few meters from them.

"Uh huh," she said, still in shock.

"And did she just-?"

"Yeah," breathed Ginny. She blinked then turned back to Lee. "We should probably move away from them." She grabbed Lee's hand and they headed towards the tabled on the other side of the dance floor. "So who wins?" she asked Lee as soon as they sat down, too preoccupied to realize that Harry, Ron, and Luna were sitting right behind her at another table.

"Well, I do," said Lee happily. "Pay up, Weasley!"

"Not so fast! You said that it would be _him_, which certainly did not happen."

"What are you guys talking about?" asked Harry, moving from his table to theirs.

"Our bet," said Lee absently. "But I was right about when!"

"A bet about what?" asked Ron, who had moved with Luna to the other table.

"About when they would kiss," said Ginny, wanting to quiet him. "NO! No, Lee! You said it had to be George!"

"About when George and who would kiss?" asked Harry.

"Well, Hermione, of course," said Luna, matter-of-factly. Everyone at the table's head turned towards her.

"How do you know about them?" asked Lee, shocked.

"C'mon, it's _Luna_; she always knows these things. Alright then, who did you think would kiss first?" Ginny smiled at her expectantly.

"Are we seriously talking about this?" said Ron, who was looking highly uncomfortable, as was Harry.

"Hermione. Isn't that obvious?" Everyone stared at her, mouths falling open.

"How do you figure that?" asked Harry. His mouth snapped shut immediately, obviously regretting getting wrapped up in this.

"Well," said Luna, ticking the reasons off on her fingers as though they were obvious, which to her they probably were, "George has liked her for longer but he's paranoid about her not liking him." She looked over at Lee for confirmation. He nodded, watching her avidly. "And he gets jealous when any other guy is around her, but he doesn't do anything. She gets jealous all the time, but she does something about it. Plus, Hermione's always been a bit 'take charge,' you know?" Luna smiled at them as Lee let out a low whistle.

"Well, I officially feel ridiculous for picking George."

"Picking me for what?" Everyone's heads whipped around to see George, with Hermione behind him.

"Hello!" said Ginny innocently. "You've been gone a while. Have fun dancing?"

Hermione blushed and ducked her head as George responded evenly, "Yes, it was great fun."

"Care to take a seat?" said Lee, pulling out a chair next to him. Hermione moved to sit at the last remaining spot at the table between Ron and Ginny, while George pulled a chair over from another table and sat between Lee and Harry, which was the only gap.

"Congratulations!" said Luna happily.

"Yes, indeed! Congratulations, you two!" said George raising his glass, which had just appeared on the table, towards Harry and Ginny.

"No, I mean you two."

"Hmm?" George moved to take a sip from his water glass.

"Congratulations on you and Hermione being a couple now," said Luna, smiling at them. There was gasping sound as George inhaled the water rather than swallowing it. His face turned bright red and he started coughing and sputtering, practically hacking up a lung, trying to clear his airways. He doubled over, coughing hard, while Lee smacked his back, probably making things worse rather than better. Everyone looked on in worry, except for Luna, who looked as if she was patiently waiting for him to finish. Finally, he stopped, taking deep breaths, still bent over in his chair. Luna turned instead to Hermione. "I'm very proud of you." She smiled proudly at Hermione, who looked torn between mortification, terror, and amusement.

"Umm…thank…you?" she said haltingly, her voice lilting up into question, obviously unsure of how to deal with this situation.

"Thanks so much, Luna, for worrying about my well-being," wheezed George sarcastically before coughing a few more times, his face still bright red from aspirating.

"I think Hermione will do that for me," replied Luna, a little smirk playing beneath her silvery eyes, which were twinkling merrily. Hermione blushed as the whole table burst into laughter, George included.

…

Hermione was walking away from the tent, desperate for some quiet. From the stress of this morning to the music that had been playing for the past couple hours, she had a sizeable headache and just wanted a few moments to catch her breath.

"And you thought you could sneak away without me noticing." Hermione turned to see Ginny behind her, her arms folded but a smile on her face.

"Hey, Gin. I've just got a headache. Wanted to take a breather." Hermione sat down on the steps that led up to the back door.

"Excellent!" said Ginny, plopping herself down next to Hermione. "A legitimate excuse to stop dancing with everyone!" She smiled at Hermione and leaned her head on her friend's bare shoulder. "So, we had a bet. On you and George."

"What? Who did?"

"Me and Lee. I thought you two would end up together either on New Year's or Valentine's Day. Lee said today, but we both thought he would kiss you first."

Hermione crinkled her nose. "Gin, Valentine's Day? You know how much I hate that holiday."

"I'm sorry," said Ginny, raising her palms in defeat. "I don't know what I was thinking." She winked at Hermione, who laughed.

"So how is it that everyone knew except for me?"

"And George. But I guess it was that you two were so wrapped up in…I dunno, your situation, I guess…to realize. So, how long have you liked my brother?"

"Oh, Gin, this isn't gonna be awkward, is it? Because I won't date him if-"

"Nonsense! It's fine. Like I said a while back, you two are pretty perfect for each other. Plus, Mum will be delighted. As soon as she finds out, she's probably going to start planning the wedding."

"No no no. Everything is going quick enough as it is. I do not need the stress of another wedding anytime soon." The two girls grinned at each other.

"So how long?" asked Ginny again.

Hermione was quiet for a minute, thinking. "The day he almost died," she whispered, more to herself than to Ginny.

"_Excuse me?_"

Hermione's head snapped up. 'Shite,' she thought. "Umm…okay, Gin, I have to be honest with you, but you can't go fussing at George or telling your Mum. I'm not supposed to tell you this, because it's George's business. Even though it's sort of mine, as well."

"Alright then. I _promise_ that I will not say a word to anyone about this mystery topic until George decided to tell me himself."

"You swear?" asked Hermione seriously, staring her down.

"All the time," said Ginny with a grin, which faded quickly when she saw the look on Hermione's face. "I swear and promise," she said seriously.

"Umm…George wanted to commit suicide and checked himself into St. Mungo's to make sure he didn't. He said he didn't want to hurt the family, but he needed help. Just by accident, I was his Healer and I was assigned to be only on his case. He was getting much better, but he had an accident in the bathroom getting out of the shower. He shattered the top of the toilet and it sliced his wrist open and he got a bad head injury. I found him almost completely bled out and I healed him, but I was terrified. I don't think he knows, but I slept in his room for the week after that." She looked up to see Ginny staring at her with wide, tear-filled eyes. "See, this is why he doesn't want anyone to know! He wants everyone to know he's fine."

"But he's not."

"I think he's almost there. He checked himself out, which is a good sign."

Ginny wrapped Hermione in an embrace and hugged her tightly. "Thank you, Hermione. For saving him." She pulled back and smiled at Hermione, who was also watery-eyed.

"You know that's my boggart now, right? I almost passed out when I went to get that one out of Teddy's room. George found me, with his dead body on the ground. That's all I remember. I think I was a bit in shock. He probably thinks I'm mad."

"I doubt it," said Ginny, hugging Hermione again, who hugged back.

"Sorry to put a damper on your wedding spirits. This conversation wasn't exactly planned."

Ginny smiled. "I really appreciate you telling me. And don't worry, your secret is safe with me. I swear. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to my husband." She made a small squeal of happiness. "_Husband_. I don't know if I'll ever get used to that."

"You've been writing that in your diary since first year. I think you'll be fine." Ginny turned and mock-glared at Hermione, who laughed and gave her a hug. "I'll be back in a few, I promise." Ginny smiled and walked away, back towards the wedding party. Hermione stared out at the pond that was starting to be tinged with pink as it reflected the bright sky.

"You know, I thought you were sleeping in my room, but I never had proof until now," said someone from behind her, a smile evident in his voice. Hermione whipped around and saw George leaning on a nearby tree, smiling smugly at her.

"Eavesdropping much?" she asked.

George shrugged before starting to walk forward. "Old habits die hard." He sat down next to her on the steps and put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into his chest and smiled to herself. "I guess I have a confession too. Every night you stayed in my room, I made that little bed and made sure you didn't sleep crumpled in that armchair." She looked up at him, surprised and quite touched. "I am highly impressed with your skills, Healer Granger. Apparently, I was pretty whipped without even knowing I liked you." She giggled and he bent down, kissing her softly on the temple.

"What can I say, Weasley? I'm just that good."


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note:** Sorry about the long wait, guys! Between school and writer's block, I've been having issues. A HUGE thanks to my mom for helping me through writer's block and helpin me actually formulate what I had thought of. I love you! Not Rowling.

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_**FEBRUARY**_

After the wedding, Hermione's work had kicked back into full gear and she was again lost to the world as she spent all hours of the day and night at the hospital. Finally, on her day off, she organized to meet Ginny and Emiline, who she had befriended a while back, for lunch. Hermione was now sitting at a caféin Diagon Alley, waiting for her friends to show.

"OH MY GOD! SHE LIVES!"

Hermione looked up and grinned at Ginny and Emiline, who were faking looks of shock and terror.

"IT! IS! ALIVE!" cried Emiline dramatically, finishing with a small fake scream. The hostess of the restaurant coughed loudly and glared at her. Ginny and Hermione laughed as Emiline pretended to give attitude to the hostess while her back was turned to them. Grinning, she sat down.

"I was afraid you'd fallen off the earth!" said Ginny. "What in the world happened?"

"I dunno," said Hermione with a little sigh. "Everything just went completely mad at the hospital. More patients, Healers getting sick, understaffed… It's just been ridiculous."

"Are you ladies ready to order?" They looked up to see a smiling young witch watching them expectantly, her quill poised to write.

…

As they ate, they talked about how everything had been going since they had last seen each other. Ginny and Emiline had just won their last match against Hungary's all-female team, but were worried about their upcoming match against Italy.

"They're good. I mean, _really_ good. I dunno about our chances," said Emiline as she moved to take another bite of her steak. "I just- Mmm! This is _such_ a good steak!"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You just what? Can't finish a sentence without remarking on your food?" She turned to Hermione with a grin. "You should have heard her at the banquet last November, going on about how wonderful the pudding was. I thought someone had switched her with Luna for the night!"

Hermione laughed as Emiline swatted her best friend. "Shut up! And it _was_ a really good pudding, but _anyways_, I was saying that I just don't know how we're going to fare up against them. Their beaters are absolutely terrifying. And I'm saying this as a beater."

"Oh shush! You're going to do fine!" assured Hermione. "You guys are unstoppable!"

"Oh great, now you just jinxed us," joked Ginny. Hermione shoved her lightly, making everyone laugh. "So…how are things with you and George?" Emiline raised her eyebrows but said nothing, choosing instead to take a sip of her water. "What?" asked Ginny, almost accusatorily.

"Nothing!" she said innocently.

"WHAT?"

Emiline rolled her eyes, knowing Ginny was not going to let this go. "I just-, I just don't get it."

"Don't get what?" asked Hermione, confused.

"You two. I just-, Hermione, you're amazing. You have a ridiculously difficult job that you were able to get into early because you were brilliant, you are impossibly dedicated, and you change lives every day. You help people and save people's lives and you're so much more than the terribly nice but terribly busy woman you see on the outside. And on top of it, you're beautiful. You could have any high-powered guy, and they still wouldn't deserve you. So I just don't get you being with George. No offence," she said, turning to Ginny, "I know he's your brother and all, but I've met him a handful of times and I never see him as more than just the joker. I was in Edinburgh, visiting a friend, and she wanted me to see this new shop that had just opened. It was your brother's shop and the moment you walked in, he set a prank on you! And he was running about like a toddler with too much sugar. I've talked to him at the wedding and at New Year's and all, but he's so very different from Hermione. Every time I see him, he's playing another joke on someone or playing the jester, wanting to make everyone laugh. There's nothing wrong with being the comedian and the "fun one," but that's all I've ever seen. I mean, he's very good looking, don't get me wrong, but he always seems like he's the same person, just one-sided. Like, the outside is some exploding prank and them you scratch the surface and under that is more layers of jokes and pranks. I just don't see how it works."

"But, Em, you didn't know Fred. If you had known-"

"Why should that matter, though? Why should me not knowing his twin, who, from what I've heard, was exactly the same, affect how I see him? George is George, not "Fred and George," and I think he's just determined to not take anything seriously. For someone as motivated and passionate as Hermione, I just think it's rather a mismatch. I hate to be so blunt, but I'm sorry, I just don't get it." She looked apologetically over at Hermione.

"He's plenty passionate! And he's smart! He's come up with all those pranks that take so much skill to work out!" Ginny argued, taking her brother's side in the argument.

Hermione, though, listened on quietly, thinking about all that Emiline had said. She was right. Since he had come into the hospital, and presumably before, he had put on a bright smile for his family and friends, being overly boisterous as if to make up for the fact that none of it was truly genuine. It did frustrate Hermione that he wasn't ever true to who he really was, the deeper and damaged George she had seen.

"Right?" Hermione looked over to see Ginny watching her expectantly. She smiled and looked over at Emiline, figuring this was an appropriate move since she hadn't actually been paying attention. "I guess it's just one of those things. Chemistry," Hermione said vaguely, still wrapped up in her thoughts. Ginny nodded her head in approval, as though this had won the argument.

"Hey," said Emiline, putting her hands up, "Like I said, none of my business. If you're happy, that's all that matters." She smiled at Hermione, who smiled back, her thoughts still on Emiline's speech.

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_**LAST NOVEMBER**_

"Alright, now I know it seems silly, but I have to do a bunch of tests on you," said Hermione, glancing up from her parchment and across the table at George, who was leaning back in his chair. He stuck out his arm, palm up.

"Just take it quickly," he said, squeezing his eyes shut dramatically.

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't you have to take blood or something?"

"No, these are paper tests, not bloodwork."

George grinned, bringing back his arm, which he crossed with each other as he tipped back the chair onto it's back two legs. "Well, that's a relief. Alright. Hit me with a question."

"Is it hard for you to concentrate while reading?"

"In general or specifically books for History of Magic, because that rubbish puts me to sleep immediately?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Recently. Since October."

George was silent for a moment. "I suppose."

"Are you constantly tired?"

"Considering how little I do here and how often I sleep, I don't know if that's a fair question."

"Like at night, when you're actually trying to go to sleep."

"I generally have better things to do at night," he said, winking at Hermione. "Although, that has been most certainly nixed since I've been here."

"George, I'm serious."

"Aren't you always?" he teased.

"George…" she said warningly, definitely aggravated by his antics by now.

"I'm so glad you know my name," he said sweetly.

She took in a deep breath and breathed it out slowly, trying to calm herself. "George, please-"

"If I had a sickle-," he started, his deep blue eyes twinkling.

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair. "You know what? I have patients that actually _need_ my help right now. If you want to mess around and act like this is a joke, that's just fine. You can check yourself out anytime."

"Hermione, c'mon," he wheedled. His chair dropped back to the ground with a crash, it's occupant watching Hermione worriedly. "I was just joking around."

"I know, George," she said, standing, her parchment and quill already back in the pocket of her Healer's robe. "But I am trying to help you and all you want to do is mess around. If you want to act like your life is just one big ball of fun, that's fantastic for you, but don't expect me to be a part of it when you're upset again." She moved to walk out of the door, but she heard the chair screech against the floor as it was pushed back, followed by the steady sound of heavy footfalls. She felt strong arms wrap around her from behind, successfully halting her.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said softly, sounding truly apologetic. Hermione sighed. 'Why was it so easy to argue with him, but yet so easy to forgive him?' She smiled slightly, failing at hiding the small grin that always tugged around her lips when he was with her.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: **Not Rowling.

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_**JANUARY**_

George was walking down a dark hallway that seemed so foreign, yet he somehow knew the way. He passed a window and looked out, hoping to figure out where he was. Everything outside was pitch black and instead of landscape, he saw his own reflection looking back at him nervously. As he was about to walk away from his reflection, he saw another face, a horrible face, right behind him. He turned quickly, but no one was there. He chuckled weakly to himself. _It was nothing. Don't go taking the mickey, George._ He heard the thud of a footstep and turned around, but no one was there. Nothing was there. He stared into pure darkness. Trying to keep his cool, he turned and began to walk hurriedly down the hallway, the only path open to him. He kept looking over his shoulder, checking for signs of life, but the only thing that seemed to be following him was the impenetrable darkness, forcing him onward. He had just slowed, having finally slowed his heart rate and collected his wits about him, when the wall just behind him suddenly exploded, sending rubble everywhere. He flew forward from the impact and landed hard on the stone floor, his arms bracing his fall.

"What the hell?" he cried, hurriedly getting up and looking around. He heard a rumble next to him and, without thinking, began to run down the hall. The wall he had just been in front of had blown up, and as he ran, the walls began to explode behind him, chasing him. He ran around curves, left, right, another right, left, running for his life. He ran down another hallway, the explosions still echoing on the cold walls, and stopped at a door, the first one he had seen. He looked around desperately. It was a dead end – the only way out was through this door. His breath heaving as the air he took in seemed to rip at his lungs, he tried to open the door, but it wouldn't give. Frantically, he searched for his wand as the sounds of the explosions came closer and closer. He cursed under his breath as he tried every unlocking spell he knew, but to no avail. "Dammit!" He pointed his wand at the door once again and shielded his face with his free arm as it blew up, running in after it as the broken fragments of the door flew into the dark room. One torch lit as he entered, a mere pinprick on the other side of the spacious room. He turned and saw the hall he had just been standing in was now just fragments of rubble. He began to run, but too late. With the sound of cannon fire, the wall next to him exploded, throwing him across the room and hard against the cold, unforgiving stone. He tried to wrap his arms around his head and neck as he felt rubble hitting him. He tried to get up, but fell to the ground in pain as rubble the size of small boulders knocked him back down. The rocks had finally all landed and, with a groan, he slowly picked himself up, his body screaming in protest as he felt the crushing, stabbing pain of broken bones piercing him. He looked around, but there were no walls to explode anymore. He was standing amongst the rubble, surrounded by the darkness that seemed to be slowly pressing in. He looked around and saw a hint of red underneath the rocks a bit of the way down the hall. He limped over, trying to see what it was. He moved a few rocks and looked down into Fred's bright blue eyes that were staring blankly into the darkness about the two of them. George felt his breathing quicken as he looked down on his twin, seemingly unharmed except for a few cuts and scratches on his face and neck. His chest was going up and down infinitesimally. "Stay with me, Fred. Stay with me," he pleaded, his voice choked. George hurriedly began to move the rest of the rubble covering Fred, desperate to get him out of here. "See Fred, we're going to get you out-" He faltered. He was not looking at his twin anymore, but at Hermione, who lay there, a look of pain on her cut and bruised face, a small pool of blood starting next to her head. "No! No!"

"_NO!" _

He woke up with a jerk, his breathing shallow and quick. As he sat up hurriedly, he realized the sheets were sticking to his chest, which was covered in a cold sweat. He hurriedly grabbed his wand from the bedside table and lit the room. He ran his shaky fingers through his hair, taking deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm down. This wasn't the first time he had had this dream. That nightmare had haunted him for this past year, since the day Fred died. It had stopped for a while, but now they were back, and he was less than a month out of the hospital, and now Hermione was in them as well. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"It was just a dream. Just a dream." He got up, picking up his water glass as he did so and draining it. "I'm fine. I'm completely fine." He got back into bed and closed his eyes, but images of the dream just played inside his eyelids. His eyes snapped open. "Bugger."

…

"_Hermione?" Hermione looked at the little boy next to her. _

"_Yes, dear?" she asked, crouching down and smiling at him._

"_Hermione? Hermione?" _

She started. What had just awoken her?

"Hermione?" She looked around and saw George standing next to her bed, clad in a vest and some shorts, his hair on end and dark circles under his scared-looking eyes.

"Wha?" she asked, still trying to figure out what was going on.

"I'm sorry to wake you, Hermione. I just-, I had that dream again. And it was worse this time. I haven't had it in months."

She sat up, her mind still bogged down by sleep. "The Fred dream?" He nodded, his demeanor reminiscent of a scared toddler who desperately needed his teddy bear. "'Kay." She pulled back the quilt and the sheet. "Come on in." Without even asking for clarification or further permission, he climbed into his girlfriend's bed for the first time, his reason far different than what he had been intending for their relationship. She threw the covers over them and smiled sleepily as he pulled her close to his chest. "That bad?" she whispered.

"Yeah," he whispered back. He hugged her close. She tilted her head up and kissed him softly on the cheek.

"It's going to be okay, George," she whispered. She wiggled into a more comfortable position and rested her head on his chest, one arm thrown across his torso. "Goodnight."

…

"Goodnight," he whispered back. Although Hermione fell right back to sleep, it took George a bit longer as he desperately tried to force out of his head the image of her from his dream. As he lay there, one of his arms wrapped around her waist, his other hand resting on her arm that lay across his abdomen, he finally fell into a dreamless sleep.

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_**LAST DECEMBER**_

He was just closing the box when he heard footsteps approaching. He hurriedly threw himself onto the bed, picking up a book and assuming a look of mild concentration just as the door opened. He looked over unconcernedly and smiled. "Well, hello there."

"Why is Healer Gastrell's hair pink?" asked Hermione, her arms folded and a no-nonsense look on her face.

"What kind of greeting is that? I thought you cared!"

"Something or someone," she said, emphasizing the last word, "turned his hair fuchsia and we can't get it to turn back."

"And you immediately blame me? I'm insulted, Hermione. I truly am," he said sadly, clutching his heart. She sighed exasperatedly.

"How many days will it be there?"

"Only two," he said innocently. She raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips in a way that clearly said _I knew it_. She turned and headed back out the door. "At least it's a flattering shade of pink!" he called after her, smiling as he heard a giggle before the door closed with a snap.

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_**FEBRUARY**_

"Oi! Over here!" George looked over and walked over to the source of the noise. "Didn't think you were gonna make it, mate!"

"Nah. You know me; I'm always up for a pint." He grinned at Lee and Oliver, who grinned back. "So what have you two been up to in my absence?"

"Admiring the scenery," said Lee with a sly smile. George looked in the direction his friends were looking and was not disappointed. There were many girls here tonight, each one more attractive than the last.

"So this is why you picked this place?" Lee simply chuckled in response. One of the girls, a Amazonian brunette in a blood red cocktail dress, turned and saw the boys looking at her, Oliver in particular. She turned and said something to her friend before heading over.

"Hello," she said, her voice sultry and raspy. "Enjoying the view?" She smiled at Oliver, who was obviously in the midst of a huge internal struggle.

"Well, actually, since you're here," started Lee, flashing George a telling grin.

"Our friend here was just admiring your dress. How did he describe it, Lee?" George asked, faking a look of confusion.

"I believe the word was 'fabulous.'"

"Oh, and didn't he describe the shoes as 'killer'?"

"He did indeed!" replied Lee happily, grinning at the bright red blush that was creeping across Oliver's cheeks as he fought to get out the correct words.

"But I'm-," Oliver tried to say.

The woman's attitude changed completely from sultry to cheery as she smiled at Oliver, not noticing she had just cut him off. "Oh gosh, thanks! I just love them! They cost a fortune but I thought they were worth it," she gossiped happily.

"But I'm not-," started Oliver, who was just getting the words out.

"Well, it was lovely talking to you," said George quickly with a smile to the woman.

"You too!" she said happily before turning and walking back to her friend. There was a beat of silence before Lee and George burst into raucous laughter.

"That was not funny!" Oliver half-shouted, now completely red from mingled embarrassment and anger.

"No, it was bloody HILARIOUS!" said Lee choked out.

"What's the big idea, acting like I'm a poof?"

"It's not like you could have done anything anyways," said George as he wiped his streaming eyes. "You're with Angelina."

"She said I can look as long as I don't touch."

"Yeah, and that was getting you far," said Lee, imitating Oliver's failed attempts at speech. George snorted with laughter.

"Oh, piss off, you arseholes," muttered Oliver. Lee and George just continued to laugh.

…

"So how are things with Angelina?" asked George.

"Great," replied Oliver with a smile. "She's out of town for the week, though, for a game in Australia. I'm going to head down to watch it tomorrow. How's Hermione?"

"She's good," replied George with a small smile. "She's been really busy with the hospital, so I haven't been able to see her much." He purposefully left out that generally about once or twice a week he slept at her place due to the nightmare that kept plaguing him. He didn't seem to have them when she was around. Oliver worried the inside of his cheek, thinking.

"What is it, mate?" asked Lee. "You're obviously wanting to say something."

Oliver sighed before speaking up, looking directly at George. "I hate to say it, mate, and I feel terrible putting it out there, but you know we made an agreement about talking about these kinds of things."

Lee made a noise of aggravation in his throat. "Oh just get on with it."

"I don't think she's really right for you."

George's eyebrows contracted as he looked at his friend. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you two are just too different. I mean, she's nice and all, and she's certainly a fit bird, but she's just, well, she's a bit of a downer."

"A downer?"

"She's always been the intellectual and the one who always went after you for your pranks, and now you two are dating? It's just odd."

"Are you saying George isn't smart enough to date her?" asked Lee, half-laughing, half-incredulous.

"No, I just, you know what I mean! Like, she was the one who never found you and Fred funny and was always on your case about your jokes."

"She's changed since Hogwarts," said George quickly.

"Yeah, I know. She's loosened up a bit, but come on. No one changes that much. You know you're still the master prankster and she's still the bookworm. And you're like us, you know, all 'seize the day' and such, and she's an absolute stress-case." George surveyed his friend and dragged his fingers through his hair, which he always did when he was thinking or worried. Oliver did have a point. They were very different people. Too different, some may say. Oliver didn't know what she was really like though. How she had helped him, how she had slept by his bed every night after his near-fatal accident, how she had laughed until she cried when he told her about memories of growing up with Fred, how she allowed him to sleep with her without asking questions about why he was there, how she made him feel safe to let down his guard and not joke around all the time.

"I dunno, mate," said Lee. "You know I like Hermione, but Oliver here may have a point." George made a noncommittal noise in his throat as he took a drink from his bottle, thinking.


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note:** Sorry for how late this is, guys! I'm in the middle of midterms and my brother just got back from the hospital, so it's been crazy on my end. Here's an extra-long chapter to say thanks for sticking with me! Not Rowling.

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_**MID-FEBRUARY**_

He awoke as he vaguely felt the bed shift and opened his eyes at the sound of the bedsprings creaking from release. Hermione was quietly getting out of bed, yawning and stretching her arms above her head, her nightgown rising as she did so, showing off her trim legs. He rolled onto his side to face her. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked with a smile, his voice raspy. She turned, not having known he was awake, and smiled at him.

"I've got to go get ready for work."

"You don't _have_ to," he said, winking at her.

She smiled and walked around to his side of the bed, giving him a lingering kiss on the lips. "You know I have to. You just don't want me to."

"Same difference," he mumbled. She giggled before heading out of the room, the _click_ of the bathroom door audible a moment later. He rolled onto his back and stared up at her ceiling. He had been sleeping over at Hermione's for almost two months now, and the frequency had upped in the last month. It was partly because his nightmares were becoming more and more frequent, but partly because he just slept better when he was with her, to the point that he had slept here every night this week. She hadn't mentioned it since the first night, when he had come over, not knowing who else he could talk to. He had just thrown the covers off of him and stepped out of bed when Hermione walked back in wearing her bathrobe.

"Nice shorts," she said sarcastically as she grinned at him, walking to the other side of the bed. He looked down to see which ones he had on. This pair was bright blue and had quaffles on it.

"Thanks," he said, grinning back.

"Help me with this, will you?" Together they made the bed by hand, a habit Hermione had that George found odd but endearing, and he sat on the bed, pulling back on his vest as he watched her pull on her clothes. It was odd how they had gotten to this point, where he slept over every night and she felt fine to dress in front of him (granted, she always had her knickers on when this happened, but a man could dream), yet they had yet to go farther in their relationship. What was odder to him was that he didn't mind it at all. Hermione filled him with a sense of comfort that he had never had before. He smiled at her as she turned to him, dressed in black trousers and a light blue sweater, silently asking for approval.

"You look lovely." She smiled at him and walked over, sitting down next to him on the bed.

"George," she said quietly, "I think you need to talk to your family about everything." He froze, not having expected this. She looked over at him, her eyes filled with concern. "I know you don't want to hurt them, but I honestly think they'd appreciate knowing. And it's not like you're telling them you're off to go end it; you're better and you haven't been feeling that way in months now."

"Hermione, I don't know."

"Please, George. Just think about it, alright?" He ran his fingers through his hair as he looked at her, her eyes pleading. He took a deep breath in and out before answering.

"I'll think about it."

"That's all I'm asking," she said, a grateful smile spreading across her lips. She looked at the clock and her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Oh, I've got to go!" She rested her hand gently on her shoulder as she turned and kissed him, his hand moving to her waist as she did so. As she tried to move away, he leaned forward and kissed her again. She grinned and kissed back before breaking apart from him and moving away. "I'm never going to get out of here at this rate," she said teasingly, grabbing her Healers robes and bag.

"Yeah, that was kind of my point." She mock-glared at him, but he simply smiled and winked at her. She shook her head and laughed as she walked out of the room.

"Goodbye," she called over her shoulder.

"Bye," he called back.

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_**LATE FEBRUARY**_

"You ready?"

He turned his head and looked at Hermione, who was watching him expectantly, waiting for him to answer. "I think so."

"I'm really glad you're doing this, George. I think it's time." He raised his eyebrows quickly, not saying anything. She seemed to take his silence as agreeing. "Alright, let's go." She took his hand and with a _crack!_, they were gone.

…

Dinner was a pleasant affair. Everyone was in a bright, sunny mood that contrasted sharply with the whistling wind and dark grey sky outside, where a blizzard blocked any light from coming through the icy window panes. George smiled and joked with everyone, taking the seconds and thirds his mother kept piling on his plate, but every once and a while, his eyes would connect with Hermione's, who sat on the opposite side and farther down the table from him, and she would give him a small smile that would immediately force his mind back to their discussion earlier that same day.

"_George?"_

_He looked up from his conversation with Lee at the cash register to see his girlfriend standing in front of him, biting her lip, her brow furrowed with worry. 'What was she doing here? She was supposed to be at work until five today, and then they would go over to his Mum's at six.' His eyes flicked quickly to Lee, who was smiling at Hermione, as if trying to make her feel better, although neither of them knew what was wrong. "Hello! I didn't expect to see you this early." He hopped off the counter and strolled around it until he got to her, wrapping her in a tight hug._

"_I had to come talk to you about something. It's been bothering me all day." _

_He immediately felt his stomach clench, immediately transported back to his childhood, when his mother would call him and Fred in to "talk to them," which usually meant they were in trouble. Trying to push this feeling out of his mind, he smiled and said, "Alright. Well, let's go back to the office. Can you take over for a few, Lee?" He glanced over at Lee, who traded an easy smile that did not match his curious and yet worried eyes. He raised his eyebrows quickly, and George knew he would have his back if anything was awry._

"_Yeah. Run along then," Lee said with a grin._

_George and Hermione walked into the office, where Hermione sat down in his chair, leaving George to sit atop his desk. "So…" he said, leaving the word hanging in the air like a storm cloud above their heads. He looked at Hermione, whose head was ducked as she fiddled with the end of her fraying red and gold scarf, one of her many tics that appeared when she was nervous. She finally looked up and took a deep breath._

"_George, I think it's time to tell them."_

"_What?" He had been so busy going over the past week in his mind, wondering what she could be mad at him for, that he hadn't listened to what she had said._

"_I think it's time to tell your family. They deserve to know."_

"_Well, Ginny knows."_

"_Yeah, but not the whole story. She has a very brief summary of what happened. They don't even know how we almost lost you."_

"_I don't think that's really something-"_

"_They need to know, George."_

_He shook his head, getting up from the desk and walking around the room, his fingers raking his already-messy hair. Maybe she was right. It would be a lot better to get this all off his chest. He sighed. "Alright. I'll tell them."_

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_**MID-FEBRUARY**_

It was Valentine's Day, Hermione's most hated holiday, and she was dreading just waking up. It's not like she truly had anything to dread; she just really hated this holiday. All the pink and red everywhere, balloons and hearts littering the shop windows and patients' rooms, roses and fat little teddy bears holding hearts that said things like "I love you beary much" and "Won't you be my Valentine?" – it was just too much. She groaned and opened her eyes. She looked to her right and saw that half of the bed was still made neatly, as George hadn't slept over last night. Next to her, instead, was a small note. She picked it up and opened it.

_I know you hate today, but don't let it get you down._

_Happy Tuesday._

She smiled as she set the note on her bedside table and got up to get ready.

…

Hermione was halfway through her day and it had been crazy so far. Ten people had already come in suffering the effects of poorly brewed Love Potions, and several had come in with odd disfigurements, obviously from a series of hexes from a spurned or displeased lover. She walked into the break room to have her lunch, but the room was papered with pink and red hearts, the table decorated with sparkly red garlands. Just to complete the scene, she had walked in on two people clearly busy, reminding her forcefully of Ron and Lavender in their sixth year. Judging by the hair, as the faces were too busy being glued to each other to be easily recognizable, it was Gastrell and Rose who were busy tongue wrestling.

"Come up for air, why don't you?" she muttered as she walked back out, feeling a little queasy from what she had just seen. She headed to her office and, once inside, sat down at her desk. She was about to open her lunch when she noticed a bunch of sunny yellow daffodils in a blue vase on her desk.

"When did you get here?" she asked, not actually expecting a response from the flowers. She picked up the note that was leaning against the vase and unfolded it.

_Something to brighten your day._

_G_

She smiled and leaned forward to smell the flowers, surprised he remembered they were her favorite flowers. A few of the flowers began to sniff her as she leaned forward, and one sneezed, letting out a honk that startled her. She laughed. Maybe Valentine's Day wasn't so bad after all.

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_**LATE FEBRUARY**_

Hermione's eyes were constantly flicking over to him all though dinner and he was started to get irritated by it. Dinner went smoothly and he could tell she was agitated by the way she kept fidgeting and giving him pointed looks. He knew she had been his healer and she had been tough with him then, but he hoped she would lighten a bit now that they were dating. He looked over from his place by the fire with Ron and Charlie and saw her chatting happily to Harry about something. Just as Harry turned to Ginny, who had just tapped his shoulder, Hermione turned and her eyes met his, her smile still in place, but somehow false underneath her almost reprimanding gaze. He restrained himself from rolling his eyes and sighing, frustrated. Couldn't she just lay off? This was not an easy thing for him to do.

…

It was time for everyone to leave and just as George stood and headed to get his coat, he heard from behind him Hermione speaking loudly.

"Everyone, I know this is odd timing, but George has something he wants to say to everyone."

Every head turned towards him just as he turned around, trying not to display how angry he was. She had to go and pull this, didn't she? He coughed, buying some time while he thought fast. He looked over at everyone, at his brothers and sister watching him curiously, at his father watching him over the rim of his mug, his glasses fogging up as he blew on his hot tea, at his mother smiling at him, a tinge of nervousness visible in her eyes. He couldn't do it. He couldn't do it to them. He smiled and looked around at them.

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is going continental! We are opening in Paris and Amsterdam next month!"

His family cheered while his mother and father got up to congratulate him, each hugging him and telling him how proud they were. He smiled and hugged them back, his eyes falling on Hermione, who was glaring at him from behind Harry, who was talking excitedly to Bill.

"Well, I better be off," he said, heading around and saying goodbye to everyone. Hermione followed suit, smiling and hugging everyone. He headed to the backdoor, Hermione following him in silence. They got outside and he took Hermione's hand in his before spinning and landing in her flat. She immediately dropped his hand and walked to her closet, where she hung up her jacket, taking an exceedingly long time to make sure it was hung up and airing. He could practically feel the chill emanating from her. He shook his head, already knowing she was furious with him. "What?" he asked.

She turned and raised her eyebrow, surveying him coolly with a hawk-like glare as she had so many times in the hospital. "What?" she repeated back, her voice unnaturally calm. "You think that suffices?"

"You're honestly going to get mad at me because I didn't tell them tonight?" He crossed his arms, feeling like he was back in dueling practice in the D.A. rather than talking to his girlfriend.

"And you expect me to be fine with you not saying anything? That's funny," she said, her lips a thin line, clearly portraying how sarcastic that comment had been.

"You set me up without warning me!"

"You had _all_ night, George! All night and you wasted it."

"Wasted it? You call spending time with my family and making them happy 'wasting time'? Gee, I've been wasting my whole life then, I guess."

"Oh, you're so terribly funny," she said facetiously. "You said you were going to do it tonight. You promised!"

"I said I'd tell them. I did not specify tonight. I couldn't do it tonight."

"You've been saying that for the past four months, George. At this rate, you're never going to tell them."

"And why is that a problem?" he half-shouted, exasperated. "I'm fine! I am still here and if I tell them, they'll worry over nothing."

Hermione crossed the room to him in a few quick strides and roughly pushed up the sleeve of his sweater, turning his arm so he was forced to look at his wrist, across which an eight-centimeter-long, jagged line traveled diagonal up his wrist, slightly darker than the rest of his skin and somewhat raised. "You call this 'nothing'? You almost died, George. You may have stopped yourself each time, but you were at the top of Big Ben, for God's sake. That was not 'nothing.' Almost killing yourself is rather a big thing. Almost dying is a bigger one. And you want to blow this off as though it's not a big deal?" she said, her voice thick with emotion.

He pulled his wrist from her grasp and shoved his sleeve down, refusing to look at his wrist any longer. "I don't want to hurt them, Hermione."

"You're hurting them by not being yourself!" she cried, roughly wiping away the angry tears that were streaming down her cheeks. "They know something is up! I know you think they want to see 'George the Jokester,' but they can tell it's a façade."

"Oh yeah, and how do you know?" he spat, trying to call her bluff.

"Because they've told me." He froze, the words still seemingly hanging over them, like a speech bubble that had not yet been popped. "And I've been told on several occasions how you're wrong for me, how you're too immature, how you can never be anything but the prankster. And I've defended you!" She shouted these last words, which rang in his ears as she continued. "I've told them how wonderful you are, how you're more than that, how you're more than a kid who never grew up. But how am I supposed to defend you if you're just proving what they're saying each and every time you open your mouth? How am I to know that this isn't the façade? I'd like to think you are actually the incredibly strong man I fell for, but maybe you're just a boy suffering from Peter Pan envy. Maybe they're right."

He heard these last words and felt as if someone had just punched him in the stomach, winding him. Before he knew the words had come out of his mouth, he retorted, "Yeah? Well, being the kid that never grew up is a whole hell of a lot better than bookworm with a stick up her ass." He swallowed and his eyes widened in shock, realizing what he had just said. She had told him how it had upset her at school that people only saw her as the bore with her nose in a book, only there to play teacher's pet. She had opened up to him about how much that had hurt her, something she had never even told to Ron and Harry, and here he was, hitting her where it hurt the most. He saw her eyes well up with tears again and her bottom lip begin to quiver. "Shite," he breathed, staring at her with apologetic eyes, "Hermione, I didn't mean-"

She held up a hand to silence him, swallowing as she closed her eyes, tears sliding out from beneath her long lashes. She opened her eyes and looked at him, a tortured expression on her face. "When all of this started, I was your healer. I was far enough out of the picture that I could talk to you about your attempts and your accident without things like this happening. I was your healer first and-" She faltered and sniffed loudly, obviously trying not to cry. "And maybe it should have stayed that way. I knew where the line was then."

"Hermione," he began to say, but she cut him off.

"I don't think I can help you anymore, George. I've tried, but it's all you now. At least when I was simply the healer, I was allowed to be pushy and blunt." She smiled wryly, although tears were still sliding down her cheeks and off the tip of her nose. She took a shaky breath and said, in a weak imitation of the brisk manner she used at the hospital, "You better get home. You open the shop at eight. Can't be tired for that." She nodded her head and walked into her bedroom, closing the door quietly.

After a moment's hesitation, George walked to the door and rested his palm against it, tempted to open it, wishing he had the right words to say, but none came to him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly before walking to the fire and, with a final apologetic look at her bedroom door, stepped into the emerald flames, not knowing that just on the other side of the door, his Healer sat, crying silently.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note: ** Not Rowling.

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_**EARLY MARCH**_

George woke up, his back freezing and his muscles stiff. He slowly sat up and looked around. He had been lying on a cold stone floor and he could feel it as he pulled himself to his feet, every muscle aching. Rubbing his sore neck, he looked around. He was in Hogwarts, but it did not look as it normally did. Although there was no one in the hallway with him, he heard loud noises and explosions from all around. Chunks of stone around him had crumbled away, scorch marks darkening the parts of the wall that remained. He walked down the hall and heard the sounds of spells being shouted and bodies hitting the stone with a heavy _thud_, but he saw no one. He didn't know where he was going, but his feet seemed to know the way. As he walked through the halls, he saw shadows of the people dueling.

'No, not shadows,' he thought, 'More like, like something had edited the world, making everyone translucent, like colored ghosts.'

He walked right through Ron battling a hooded Death Eater, not knowing why his feet wouldn't let him stop, wouldn't let him help his brother. As he followed his feet up more and more flights of stairs, he passed more friends or family members, all fighting and seemingly winning, though none could hear him. No matter what he tried, how loudly he yelled, how close he got, no one noticed him. They passed right through him, as if he was the ghost instead. He was so preoccupied with trying to get the attention of someone, anyone, that he had not noticed where his feet had taken him. He felt a gust of icy air hit his skin, raising goose pimples, and he looked around, surprised to see he was on the top of one of Hogwart's towers.

A cruel, familiar laughing voice rent the air. "You thought you could get away, you filthy little mudblood?"

George turned quickly to see who was speaking and to whom, and suddenly he felt his stomach drop. It was Bellatrix speaking, but worse, she was speaking to Hermione, who was standing straight-backed and defiant, with no wand in sight. "Hermione!" he said, desperate for her to hear him but, unsurprisingly, there was no response.

Bellatrix cackled. "Bitty baby Potter's faithful sidekick, all alone and wandless," Bellatrix mocked in a babying tone, slowly walking towards Hermione, who glared at her attacker.

George looked around hurriedly, desperate to find why Hermione was defenseless, and his eyes fell on her wand, which was broken into three pieces and completely beyond repair. "Hermione! Run!" He rushed over to her and tried to push her, drag her, anything, but every time he tried, his hands sunk right through her. Desperate to protect her, although his brain shouted that this was futile, he stood between Hermione and Bellatrix, shielding her. He turned, his back to Bellatrix, and looked into Hermione's face. Her jaw was set resolutely, all her muscles tense, ready to fight, but her eyes told a very different story. At first glance, they were defiant, angry, but when you really looked, sheer terror was evident in her eyes. He heard it before he realized what was being said.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"NO!" he cried, terrified. The bright green light shot through his body and, as he desperately tried to wrap his arms around her, hit Hermione square in the chest. A look of shock and fear froze on her face as she stumbled backwards from the impact, through his arms, and fell over the side of the tower and into the darkness below.

"_HERMIONE!"_

He awoke suddenly, his scream still echoing in his ears. He sat up, panting, and clutched his forehead with a shaking hand. It was dripping, but icy cold. He groaned and buried his face in his hands. This was the seventh nightmare this week, one for every night, starting with the night of the fight. Since their fight and breakup, which he knew had happened, also no one had said it in such specific terms, his dream of Fred being blasted by the wall was now replaced by dreams of Hermione dying. To make it all worse, every night was different, unlike his usual dreams, which was the same nightmare time and time again. Each time, he had woken up at some godforsaken time in the morning, before the sun had even risen, dripping in sweat, shaking, and sick to his stomach, having just watched Hermione die, despite his best efforts to save her.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself. "I can't do this anymore." He got up slowly and headed to the bathroom to take a shower. There was no way he was getting back to sleep now.

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Hermione was miserable. Since she had had her fight with George, she had been throwing herself into her work, taking on extra long shifts and exhausting herself so when she came home, she was too tired to think about how quiet her flat was or how empty the bed now looked with only one person in it. Well, that, at least, had been the theory. It didn't matter how exhausted she was, her mind always wandered to him in her moments of silence. When she closed her eyes and let the hot water run over her tired muscles, all she could see was his face, filled with an anger and hurt so strong as he yelled, "And why is that a problem?" When she lay in bed, desperate for sleep to overcome her, every creak the mattress emitted made her think of him coming over that night two months ago, silently begging for comfort, sorrow and worry etched into every line and curve of his face. When she woke up in the morning, it always took her a moment to remember he was not there beside her; there was no one to make her mornings seem a little brighter, no one to try and pull her back into bed, wanting to keep her from work just to be able to spend more time with her. From her seat in the break room, she looked up at the calendar across from her, posted on the wall. It had been exactly a week ago they had…well, broken up seemed to be the correct term. Tonight was a Weasley dinner, but she knew she couldn't go, not simply because of the fact that she had offered to take a late shift so Marie could go out to dinner with Lee. They had apparently been dating ever since they had met, during Lee and George's prank war on Healer Gastrell. No, she knew she couldn't go tonight because she couldn't bear it. She couldn't put on a false, cheerful demeanor like George could and pretend nothing had happened. She couldn't do that to the family that she loved so much.

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George walked into the kitchen right as everyone was sitting down to dinner.

"George!" said Ginny happily. "Hey, Mum, George is here," she said to Mrs. Weasley, whose back was turned as she transferred jacket potatoes onto a plate.

"Oh good!" said Mrs. Weasley, handing the now-full plate off to Bill and heading around the table to hug her son. She looked around, confused. "Dear, where's Hermione?"

George heard the table go rather quiet as Harry, Ron, and Ginny stopped talking to listen. "She couldn't make it, Mum. Sorry."

"Oh, okay," said Mrs. Weasley, sensing there was more to the story, but knowing now was not the best time to bring it up. "Well, I'll send some food home with you so you can make sure she gets it." She bustled back to the kitchen counter, not noticing that George had not responded.

He sat down between Charlie and his father, thankful there were no seats near Ron and Harry, who would definitely want an explanation for Hermione's absence. All throughout dinner, he was quiet, only responding when spoken to and generally keeping to himself. He knew his mother was watching him, curious as to why he was acting so much like how he had right after the war, but he made no move to talk to her, simply avoiding eye contact instead. After dinner, everyone retired to the sitting room and George finally made up his mind. It was now or never.

"Err…I have something I need to tell you lot." Although he had not spoken very loudly, all other talking immediately ceased and every head turned to him, every face expectant and curious. "Wow, err…I didn't actually think you would all hear me…err, okay, well, where to start, umm…Well, I lied to you guys about why Hermione was here when she first came over." He took a breath, noting that every brow in the room was furrowed in confusion. "I didn't actually invite her; she was forced to come with me."

"Forced? By whom?" asked Mr. Weasley, taking off his glasses and polishing them on his sweater before replacing them on his nose.

"By her boss at Saint Mungo's. You see, she was my Healer, but not for an injury. I checked myself in and by chance she was the Healer on call, and she ended up being assigned to my case."

"Why did you check yourself in?" asked Mrs. Weasley, now looking worried.

George wished they would stop asking questions; it just made him feel more nervous. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and raked his fingers through his hair nervously. "Since last summer," he said quietly, knowing they would all take this to mean "after the war," "I, I…" He coughed nervously, feeling his chest start to constrict, as it did when he was nervous. "I'd been trying to…to kill myself." He winced as he heard gasps from his family. "I didn't, obviously," he said hurriedly, gesturing to himself, "but I checked myself in because I knew I couldn't hurt everyone by doing it, and I needed someone to help me."

Before he knew it, his mother's arms were around him and he felt her shake as she cried into his chest. "Wh-why didn't you come to us?" she said through her tears.

"I couldn't, Mum. I couldn't hurt you like that." She hugged him tightly, but when he started to talk again, she let go, though she hovered close to him as she wiped her streaming eyes. "Well, umm, Hermione was my Healer and she was ordered to come with me and pretend like everything was fine and I spent the rest of the week in Saint Mungo's. That's why Lee couldn't find me," he said, turning to his mother, who nodded, understanding as everything started falling into place.

"Lee knows?" asked Charlie quickly.

George looked at his older brothers, who were all watching him worriedly but silently. Percy looked a little green, and this made George feel even worse. He knew Percy still blamed himself for Fred's death, and the idea that George had almost killed himself probably made everything even worse. "Yeah," he said, "I had to tell him because he threatened to hold the company hostage." He gave a weak smile that was returned, just as nervously, by Charlie. "With Hermione's help, I checked myself out in December. Right before Christmas."

"And you fell for her when you were in the hospital," said Bill, phrasing it more as a statement than a question.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "And I promised I would tell you lot last week, but I didn't and we had a fight about it and," he paused and swallowed before continuing, "and that's why she's not here."

"Then why do you have a scar on your arm?" asked Harry, his bright green eyes watching George curiously.

"What scar?" asked Mr. and Mrs. Weasley immediately.

George's right hand immediately moved to his left wrist, which he had forgotten to cover by his sleeve as he had been doing since the accident. 'Damn Harry and his perceptiveness,' thought George. He had been trying to avoid this topic, but there was no worming around it now. "I had an accident while I was in the hospital and-"

"Oh! That's the day you almost died, isn't it?" Ginny asked worriedly.

"WHAT?" cried everyone else, all in different decibels of fear.

George looked at Ginny and widened his eyes, silently berating her for bringing that up, to which she mouthed _sorry_ as she looked on worriedly. "Yeah, umm…Hermione had to tell Ginny because she was kind of forced," he started, earning a glare from Ginny, not that he cared, as it was her fault his mother was practically hyperventilating next to him. "But I slipped in the bathroom and shattered the top of the loo and it caught my wrist and I banged up my head. Hermione got to me before I…umm…bled out," he finished, saying the last couple words as quickly and quietly as possible. His mother practically knocked him over as she hugged him tightly, still terrified even though her son was in her arms, alive and whole. She was soon joined by Mr. Weasley, and after that, everyone in the family hugged George, incredibly thankful he was alright. After everyone had wiped their tears, normalized their heart rates, and hugged George several times, Harry, ever the astute one, spoke up.

"So you're going to get Hermione back, right?"

The room once again got quiet as everyone looked between Harry, the corner of whose mouth was turned up into an expectant smile, and George, who was running his fingers through his hair, once again nervous. "She doesn't really want to see me right-"

Ginny made a derisive snort and raised her eyebrow at her older brother. "Oh that's bollocks and you know it."

"She really doesn't want-"

"Is she worth it?" asked a quiet voice. George turned to see that his father had spoken, a small, knowing smile on his face. George nodded silently. "Then go get her."

"Thanks, Dad," George said with a swift smile before rushing to the kitchen door, a loud _crack!_ announcing his departure.


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note: Not Rowling.**

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George landed in the middle of Hermione's flat, which was extremely dark and quiet. He looked around the sitting room, but no one was there. "Hermione?" he called, but no one answered. He walked into the bathroom, which was empty and frigid, the white tiles as cold as ice. He walked next door to the bedroom, and saw that the side he usually slept on was made neatly, but Hermione's side of the bed was messy, as if she had simply thrown off the covers and left. Something was definitely off, because Hermione always made the bed. Furrowing his brow, he walked back out to the sitting room, thinking about where she might be. As the idea struck, he turned on his heel and was gone.

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Hermione was ready to rip her hair out. Why, in the name of Merlin, did everything have to go to hell when she was one of the few on the night shift? It was only half past eight at night, and yet she had had to deal with an obliviated man repeatedly get out of his room and follow her, asking her to marry him, a young boy who could only bark after being hit with a poorly-done hex, and four members of a dueling team who had all been hit with one spell too many. She was currently trying to restrain one, a man about her age that was wiggling around uncontrollably.

"Sir, please, keep still for-, SIR!" She ducked as she nearly missed getting hit by his flailing arm and quickly hit him with a stunning spell, which finally succeeded in getting him to stop moving. Sighing exasperatedly, she muttered to herself as she checked the now-snoring man over, thankful that her job allowed her to stun when necessary. 'Marie better get back here soon; I need help here,' she thought to herself as she checked the clock again. Only half an hour more to go before she could go home.

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George walked around the corner and came face to face with the ugly store mannequins. He winked at one, who nodded. He stepped through and into the main atrium of Saint Mungo's. He weaved between the people waiting to talk to the Welcome Witch, narrowly avoiding a kick from a man who could not seem to get his wiggling legs under control and ducking as an older woman let out a racking cough and expelled flames from her mouth. He was almost to the lifts when he heard a woman's voice call out, "Sir! Those are the staff lifts!"

"I have a meeting with Healer McKiddie," said George, using his best impersonation of Percy's formerly pompous demeanor. He silently thanked the powers that be that he had scrounged up the Top Healer's name when he needed it the most.

"Oh," said the young woman, looking surprised. "I'm so sorry, sir."

"Not a problem. Good day." And with that, he hurried into the Healers' lift and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

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Hermione had just finished dealing with the last of the new arrivals when another patient was brought in, accompanied by a young, male Healer-in-training. She smiled, tight-lipped as she bit back a sigh. "And what happened here?" she asked kindly, smiling at the young girl who now had antlers any full-grown buck would be proud of.

The young man had his hands on her shoulders, helping her maintain balance as she kept tipping over from the weight of the new additions to her head. "This is Marise Morgan," he said softly, raising his eyebrows in mild amusement above the girl's head as he spoke to Hermione. "Her brother hexed her when she got into their treehouse, apparently."

"Ah, and where's your mum, Marise?"

"She's downstairs with Roger, ma'am. She said she was going to spank him as soon as she got me taken care of," said the girl in a soft, melodious voice.

Hermione smiled at her and looked up at the other Healer. "You can handle this, Mark?" He nodded. She smiled gratefully at him and he winked at her before leading the girl to the nearest examination room. Hermione turned to the nurse's station to drop off some finished paperwork when she heard a shout behind her.

"HERMIONE! HERMIONE!"

She whirled around, confused, and saw George running down the hallway towards her. "George? What are you-?"

"Oh thank Merlin, you're here! You're here! Okay!" He stopped in front of her and clutched his side, breathing heavily.

"Are you okay? What's wrong? Is someone hurt? Why are you breathing so hard?"

"Ran-, up-, stairs," he gasped, trying to catch his breath. "Lifts broken."

"What happened? Is someone hurt?" She was definitely worried now and completely confused as to why he had just come barreling down her ward.

"Had to come talk to you," he said, his breathing finally normalizing. "I need to talk to you about last Sunday. I-"

"Do we really have to talk about this now?" she hissed, feeling her face flush and looking around embarrassedly as both patients and Healers started coming out of the rooms, curious as to the cause of the commotion.

"Yes, Hermione!" he said quickly. "I wanted to tell you that-"

"Is everything okay, Hermione?" asked Mark, followed by an antler-less Marise, walking up next to her and resting his hand on her shoulder.

"Who the hell is this?" asked George, his ears starting to turn red as he glared at the other man.

"Healer Granger?" Everyone looked around to see an old man tugging on Hermione's sleeve. "Will you marry me?"

"Who the hell is that?" cried George.

"Of course, Mister McMannon. Now please get back to your room," said Hermione in a soft voice, smiling softly at the old man.

"WHAT?" cried George.

"Sir, I think you need to leave-" said Mark, moving forward towards George.

"What's going on here?" Hermione turned around to see Marie walking in, Lee's hand around her waist.

"George?"

"Lee?"

"What's going on?"

"Sir, you should probably lea-"

"EVERYBODY! STOP!" Hermione cried. Everyone stopped talking immediately and stared at her like deer in the headlights. "Mark, can you make sure everyone gets back into their rooms, _especially_ Mr. McMannon?" Mark nodded, still eyeing George suspiciously, and started ushering people towards their respective rooms.

Meanwhile, Marie kissed Lee and pushed him gently towards the door. "I think it's best you go home. It's seems a bit crazy right now." He smiled at her and, after shooting a worried look over at his best friend and Hermione, he left. Marie bustled to the back of the desk and began sorting the paperwork, although it was evident she was trying to eavesdrop as she was moving quietly and rather slowly.

"Mr. Weasley, I think it's time you go-" started Hermione, turning back to George, her brisk hospital manner back in place.

"No no," said George, moving forward. "You don't get to pull that with me, Hermione."

"Pull what?"

"Pull the Healer routine with me! Now I went to your house to talk to you, but you weren't there, so I rushed over here, ran up four bloody flights of stairs, and god dammit, you're going to listen to me!" George cried, his face flushed, his hands gesticulating wildly. Hermione's mouth fell open. George had never spoken to her like this before. Actually, she'd never heard him speak to _anyone_ like this before. "I've been miserable without you, Hermione," he said, dragging his fingers through his hair agitatedly as he paced in front of her. "Every night, I have nightmares of you dying. Every night, I try to save you and I can't. And I can't come over and check on you because you don't want to see me! And I can't ask Harry or Ron to check on you for me because I'll have to explain why I'm worried and why I can't just go myself. I know you said that you'd rather be just my Healer, but I can't let you! I can't go back to the way it was before, Hermione! I can't just pretend everything we've gone through didn't happen! You wanted me to stop pretending I was fine, and I listened. I told everyone tonight – what I'd been doing since the war, why I was never able to be reached, why you suddenly showed up at the Burrow, how I got my scar, everything." He moved forward and held her upper arms tightly in his strong hands, staring into her face with mingled desperation and frustration, his hair completely on end, making him look even madder. "I know I was an idiot. I know that. And you know that. You've known that from the beginning, and you still cared about me. I know I'm a screw up and I was an idiot for saying those terrible things to you, but you're a bigger idiot for not giving me another chance!" He took a deep breath and his voice lowered slightly as his blue eyes, as mercurial and deep as the sea, searched her face. "And I'm the biggest idiot. Because I've fallen for my Healer and I've never been more lost and confused in my entire life." He finished, and took a deep breath before smiling nervously and letting out a weak chuckle. "Oh dear Merlin, I don't think I've ever been that sappy in my entire life."

Hermione closed her mouth, which she hadn't realized was still hanging open, hurriedly wiped away the several tears that had slid down her cheeks while he talked, and smiled at him, the tip of her nose reddening as she tried desperately not to cry. "I don't know," she said quietly. "How big of an idiot does it make me if I'm falling for a complete idiot?"

He chuckled softly, his face immediately brightening as he beamed at her. "Quite large. Humungous, actually." She burst out laughing and moved forward just as he did the same, wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her so tightly that he lifted her off the ground. Both laughing now, he set her back down and turned to Marie, who had been unapologetically watching. "Marie, I think it's time Hermione clocked out. What thinks you?"

Marie grinned. "Don't worry, Hermione; I'll sign you out. Just grab your coat and go. One good turn deserves another, eh?" She winked, making Hermione laugh.

"Thanks Marie!"

"Get out of here, you nutters! And don't you dare show up tomorrow, Granger! It's your day off!"

.

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.

They landed in Hermione's apartment and as Hermione turned to take off her coat, George grabbed her wrist and turned her back around. "Wha-" Hermione's question was cut off as George pressed a feverish kiss onto her lips. She wound her arms around his neck, standing on her tiptoes as she kissed back. He smiled and they broke apart.

"So do I still have to call you 'Healer Granger'?" joked George.

She playfully shoved him and moved out of his embrace, sighing dramatically. "Well, I suppose not," she said as she took off her black pea coat and sat down on the couch.

George chuckled as he turned to take off his coat and hang it, along with her coat, on the hooks by the front door. "Well, Marie said it was your day off tomorrow, so I guess that makes it my lucky day! I was thinking maybe we could"- He turned back around and lost his words as his eyes fell on Hermione, who was fast asleep, her body leaning heavily against the arm of the couch. He smiled as she let out a soft snore. "I suppose we'll change tomorrow's schedule to include sleeping in," he said quietly. He moved forward and scooped her up, smiling as she leaned her head on his shoulder, her warm breath tickling his neck. He carried her to her bedroom and set her gently on the bed. He moved to the drawer labeled "pajamas." 'Of course she would have her drawers labeled,' he thought to himself. He pulled out the first things he found, which had been thrown hastily in the drawer without being folded. He carried the pair of flannel pajama trousers and his favorite t-shirt, faded and tissue soft, emblazoned with the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes logo, which had gone missing a few weeks ago. He pointed his wand at her and whispered a few words but turned his back, allowing her privacy as her day clothes were replaced by her pajamas. He turned back around and lifted her carefully, setting her in the bed and tucking her in. He was just turning away when he felt fingers on his arm.

"Don't go," said a sleepy voice from behind him. He turned around to see Hermione's half-lidded eyes watching him, a frown marring her serene expression. He smiled at her and moved to the other side of the bed.

"I'm not going anywhere; don't worry." He kicked off his trainers, pulled off his sweater, vest, and trousers, and untucked the covers and sheet from his side of the bed. He climbed under and Hermione immediately moved over and hugged him tight to her, making a little noise of contentment as he stroked her unruly hair. "Goodnight, Hermione," he said softly, but there was no reply; she was already fast asleep. He held her close and closed his eyes, and in no time, he was asleep.

Not a single nightmare was had that night.


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note:** Sorry this took so long! I know I promised it today and I kept my promise, although it was much later than I planned. Lots of Thanksgiving prep/baking to do today! Anyways, enjoy and I'm not Rowling!

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_**EARLY MARCH**_

George woke up slowly, the sounds and sights of his surroundings slowing coming into focus. He turned his head to the left and blinked several times as he tried to rid himself of the blurriness that seemed to be covering everything. Hermione was still asleep next to him, her arms wrapped around her pillow loosely. He smiled softly and watched her. While she slept, her lips or her nose would twitch slightly, flickers of her emotions playing across her features as she dreamed. As he watched the corner of her lips tug slightly upwards, he wondered what she was dreaming about because it seemed to be something enjoyable.

…

_Hermione was at Hogwarts, walking down the hallway, when suddenly, out of the silence that seemed to fill the castle like a tangible presence when night fell, she heard what sounded like someone laughing, a boy laughing._

"_Shhh!" the other person hissed, half-laughing as he did so. The laughter continued, and was mixed with the new person laughing. "Seriously!" the voice said, obviously trying hard to keep quiet, but laughing too hard to be successful. "Be quiet! Someone is going to hear us!" She heard a snort of laughter, which made the speaker laugh harder._

_Confused, she walked forward quietly, listening for the source of the laughter. She finally ended up in front of a tapestry that lay flat against the hard, stone wall. Finding this suspicious, she carefully wrapped her fingers around the tapestry and pulled lightly. A secret alcove was revealed and through the small gap she had opened, she could see Fred and George working on something. George was bent over a small cauldron that was bubbling merrily, little drops jumping into the air before dropping back into the roiling boil beneath. It reminded her forcefully of Felix Felicis, which she had just read about the other day, although they wouldn't be covering it until next year. Oddly, the potion was not a sunshine-y gold, but rather a bright, leaf green. Fred was prepping what looked like chocolate bonbons, poking holes big enough to pour liquid through. Fred was quietly chuckling to himself, while George's face was screwed up in concentration, a small smile tugging on his lips. _

"_And what are you two doing?" she said quietly, quickly moving into the alcove and pulling the tapestry behind her, so no one passing would see the three of them, although she doubted anyone else would be walking about at this time of night. Two pairs of blue eyes looked up at her, wide with shock, and, to Hermione's surprise, the two boys broke into howls of mirth. She was completely lost now. "What's going on? Are you two alright?" she asked, watching confusedly as George clutched his stomach as he gasped for air, no sound coming out of his mouth as he shook with silent laughter and Fred lay face-down on the floor, howling with laughter and pounding the stone floor with his fist. Hermione quickly put a silencing charm on the alcove, as the twins were being so loud now that they would probably wake a professor, Filch, or worse, Umbridge. "Have you two gone completely mad?"_

"_Yes," gasped Fred, finally sitting up and wiping his wet cheeks and streaming eyes. George was leaning against the wall, taking deep breaths as he clutched his sides. He looked her way and their eyes met. He smiled at her, not his usual half-smirk, half-smile that always said they were up to something, but an easy smile, filled with joy. She smiled back and he winked, making her blush ever so slightly._

"_We're developing a new potion and we're the testers."_

_Hermione looked over at Fred, who had spoken. "What is it?"_

"_Can't you tell?" he replied, chuckling._

"_It makes you laugh uncontrollably," said George with a smile. "Want to try some?"_

_She grinned. "No, but thanks ever so," she said sarcastically, making the twins grin. "I think it's just about ready to market." She made to turn to the tapestry and leave as she said, "Make sure to be back in the common room before sun rise. Filch likes making his morning round about then."_

"_Wait!" called Fred quietly, making Hermione turn back around. "You're not going to punish us or something?"_

"_Of course not," she said softly. "I think everyone could do with a few laughs this year. I dare say we all need it." Her eyes met George's, and she saw a soft look on his handsome face that she had never seen there before._

"_Thanks, Hermione," he said._

_She smiled at them and lifted the tapestry, looking around carefully before continuing her patrol._

...

Hermione shifted and took a deep breath in through her nose, her eyes fluttering open slowly.

"Well good morning," he said. He shifted onto his side, his head resting on his arm as he smiled at her.

"G'morning," she said with a sleepy smile. She stretched and made the cute squeaky noise she always made when she stretched in the morning.

"How'd you sleep?" they both asked at the same time. They laughed.

"Better than I have in a while," he said. "You?"

"Really well." She wiggled closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and resting her face on his bare chest. He wrapped his arms around her bare waist, as her shirt had ridden up slightly. He could feel her smile against his chest.

"Hermione?" he asked softly.

"Hmm?"

"I love you." He had said it without thinking, but once it was said, he didn't feel bad or nervous. It felt natural. It felt right.

She moved her head so she could look at him and he saw she had a bright smile on her face. "I love you too, George." He smiled and bent his head down just as she tilted her head up, their lips meeting in a soft kiss. Just as George moved to deepen the kiss, Hermione squirmed slightly.

He broke the kiss and looked at her, confused but still smiling. "What?"

"Umm," she mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes as she looked around, embarrassed. George was reminded of the little wiggling movement little kids did when they were shy. "I have to pee."

He burst out laughing. He laughed so hard he snorted, which made Hermione laugh and him laugh harder. "Seriously?" he said between laughs. "I try to be romantic and your answer is 'I have to piss?"

"Well, I do! It's the morning!" she cried, although she was laughing just as hard.

"Dammit, now I have to piss too, now that you've mentioned it." They both looked at each other silently for a moment before both jumping out of bed and racing to the bathroom.

"It's mine first!" she cried, running to the loo.

He ran ahead of her, but she tripped him, continuing to run as he caught himself and ran after her. Her hand was just on the doorknob when his hands looped around her waist as he picked her up and placed her behind him. Ignoring her angry "HEY!", he ran inside and closed the door. "Maybe next time!" he cried through the closed door. He chuckled as he heard her aggravated sigh, which was followed by a _thump_ of her back hitting the door as she waited, rather impatiently. When he had finished, he flushed the loo and washed his hands. He was about to walk to the door when an idea struck him and he grinned evilly. He moved to the sink again and took his time putting toothpaste on his toothbrush. As he leisurely brushed his teeth, he let the water run.

"George! Get out of there! This is not funny! Seriously! Stop that! I really have to pee!"

Feeling he had tortured her enough, he rinsed his mouth and his toothbrush, dropped it into the cup, and sauntered over to the door. Hermione had been leaning against the door, legs crossed tight, and promptly fell backwards into George as he opened the door. She steadied herself and pushed him out of the doorway. The door slammed behind him, followed by a muttered "Arse." He laughed and walked back to the bed.

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_**EARLY DECEMBER**_

The door opened suddenly and slammed into the opposite wall, startling George. His hand shook and ink went all over the blueprints he had been drawing. "Bollocks!" He turned around and opened his mouth, ready to chastise whoever had just made him ruin what he had been working on all day, when he closed his mouth suddenly, his teeth clicking together audibly. Hermione was in his room and, without any warning or welcome, was now screaming into his pillow, her frustration muffled by the down pillows. "Umm…hi," he said, thoroughly confused. She stopped, turned around, and sat heavily on the edge of his bed, still clutching his pillow to her chest.

"Hi," she said quietly.

"You okay?"

"I just-, I mean-, I can't even-, ARGH!" She buried her face in the pillow once again as she yelled.

George moved to sit next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her towards him. "Who was it this time?"

"The Daily Prophet! Every time there's a slow day, they hunt us down, begging for interviews on things we've already talked about, prying into our private lives, and it's just frustrating!"

"But-"

"AND THEN, they shout out all these ridiculous things at me, some of which I can hardly believe are even rumors circulating because they are so completely idiotic!"

"Like wh-"

"Like I'm using my status at Saint Mungo's to get professionals to change how I look. Or that I'm coming up with a cure to some sickness or another. Well, that one's actually rather flattering. But they come up with the most ridiculous things! Like how Harry and I will be announcing our engagement soon, which is utterly stupid, as everyone knows he and Ginny are engaged. Or how I'm apparently having Draco Malfoy's baby! I DON'T EVEN LOOK PREGNANT! Do I look pregnant?"

George tried desperately to fight down the smile that was desperate to appear on his lips. "No, Hermione, you do not look pregnant. I do like the fact that you're more worried about the pregnancy part than who allegedly fathered the child," he said in a soothing voice, although he couldn't help but chuckle at the last part.

She waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, I couldn't care less about Malfoy. Do I actually look like I could be pregnant?"

He laughed and hugged her to his chest. "No, Hermione, you do not look like you're about to give birth to a human-ferret hybrid." She snorted and burst out laughing, her breath hot on his neck as he laughed along with her.

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_**EARLY MARCH**_

George ran a hand through Hermione's hair as she talked, her index finger lightly tapping out his heartbeat on his upper arm, where her hand rested. They had so far spent the entire day in bed, just talking about whatever came to mind and making each other laugh. Right now, Hermione was talking about memories from when she was a child. His fingers played with her curls, occasionally twirling them until they sprang back. He had never done something like this with a girlfriend before. He had never been so open about his feelings and his life. He also had never gone this far into the relationship without forwarding the physical side. When it came to Hermione, though, George didn't worry about either of these things. This was all new territory, but he was braving it with Hermione, who he knew was new to this as well, and he knew he'd be fine. More than fine, actually. As long as he was with Hermione.


	23. Chapter 23

_**Author's Note: **__Last chapter, guys! I know you all are probably ticked I'm ending it, but I like where I'm ending this for them. Never fear! A new story is coming right up! Not Rowling._

_._

_._

_._

_**APRIL**_

"No, you're wrong."

"I'm never wrong."

"Bollocks. You're wrong all the time."

"You just cursed."

"Oh shut up."

"It was really funny. You never curse."

"That's irrelevant! All that matters is that I'm right about this."

"You are the biggest know-it-all, and yet, somehow, miraculously, you are still wrong."

"I AM NOT!"

"YES, YOU ARE!"

"We should move into your place!"

"No! We should move into yours!"

"It's above your shop."

"But we're always at your place."

"So?"

"So why, logically, would we move to my place when I'm always at your place anyways? I'd say it would hardly be considered moving since half my clothes are here anyways, mostly because you keep stealing them."

She waved her hand dismissively, ignoring his last, and very true, comment. "But why would you want to move farther away from your work? It's much more logical to live at your place."

"Hermione, we are wizards. We can apparate and floo and the like. You realize I don't have to take a car or a train to get to work, right?"

"Oh."

"So I'm right. Excellent. That's settled."

"I never said that."

"You just did."

"I said 'Oh.' How is that synonymous to 'Yes, George dear, you are indeed quite correct.'"

"Well, there's no need to be pompous about it. But thank you. I accept your concession."

"But I didn't-"

"I'm so glad we could agree on this." George grinned as Hermione stomped her foot as she made a noise of frustration. He opened his arms wide and, with a roll of her eyes, Hermione stepped into them. "There's a good girl," he laughed.

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_**MAY**_

He stood on the stone path that cut through the bright green grass and wound its way through the neatly trimmed rosebushes and the small vegetable plots that were scattered amongst the flowers growing wild in the garden. He looked up at the little white door that was the entrance to the little yellow house and felt his stomach twist. It was not an imposing house; actually, it was welcoming in every way, but somehow his feet were still rooted to the ground and he was utterly terrified. He felt a tug on his left hand and looked to his left to see Hermione looking at him expectantly.

"I can't do this," he croaked.

"Nonsense, you'll be fine!" she said with a smile.

"No, seriously, Hermione. I think I'm going to be sick. I can't do this. Can we come back another day?" he pleaded.

"There is nothing wrong with you, George."

"Hermione, this is a big thing. I'm not ready." He looked nervously at the windows, sparkling in the sun, flanked on either side by white shutters, feeling as if he was about to pass out.

"George," she said softly. He looked back over to see her smiling kindly at him, her left hand on his upper arm, her right hand still in his left. "You can do this. They'll love you."

"But what if they don't?" He knew he sounded like a terrified little kid, but he didn't care – this was legitimately scary for him.

"You're good at making people love you. That's why I'm here."

He smiled softly at her and ducked his head, kissing her softly on the lips as he held her waist lightly. "Okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "Let's do this." They walked up to the front door and Hermione knocked on it three times.

"Coming!" came a cheery call from inside the house.

George had no idea what to expect when the door opened until it did. In front of them stood a woman, petite in every way, wearing a pair of white trousers and a sunny yellow sweater, an apron tied over her small waist. Her brown hair was tied up in a loose chignon from which a few bushy curls fell, and a bright smile lit up her face. In other words, she looked almost exactly like Hermione except older.

"Mum!" Hermione cried happily, rushing forward and wrapping her arms around her mother's neck, her mother laughing happily as she wrapped her arms around her daughter's waist and hugged her tightly.

"Robert! Hermione's home!" the woman called as she let go of her daughter. She turned to George and smiled as her green eyes quickly surveyed him. "And you must be George! We've heard so much about you."

"Oh, that's usually a really bad thing," he said nervously. She laughed and moved forward to give him a hug.

"Nonsense! Hermione has had only wonderful things to say about you." She stepped back and chuckled. "Oh my goodness, I'm so excited, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Jean."

"It's wonderful to meet you," he said with a smile. 'Maybe this isn't going to be too bad,' he thought to himself as they walked into the foyer. His comfort was immediately sapped, though, as Hermione's father walked in. Robert Granger was, at first glance, a highly imposing man. Tall and serious, his clever brown eyes, framed by thick hair and a bushy moustache, both brown speckled with grey, surveyed George warily for a moment.

"Daddy, this is George," said Hermione, watching her father carefully. Mr. Granger looked over at Hermione, his eyebrows contracting for barely a second. Hermione nodded almost imperceptibly. He looked back over at George, who was baffled by this silent conversation, and nodded. Stepping forward, he stuck out his hand, which George shook. "Nice to meet you, George. I'm Robert. You're staying for lunch, aren't you?"

And George, feeling that the worst was seemingly now over, said with a smile, "If you'll have me, sir."

A small smile tugged at Mr. Granger's lips as he surveyed George shrewdly and replied, "We'll see."

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_**JUNE**_

Hermione looked around curiously. "George, why are we here?"

"Because," he said simply, dragging her into the store.

"But we don't need any furniture," she said as she tripped past a display of lamps.

"Oh come on, Hermione. Stop thinking so hard and just enjoy it."

"Enjoy what?"

They stopped at a display of a fully-furnished kitchen and George sat at the dinner table with a grin. "I'm still waiting on my breakfast, dear."

Hermione began to laugh. "You're joking, right?"

"It's fun!" he wheedled. "Just play along!"

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop a grin from appearing on her face. "It's not breakfast time without getting ready first," she said, moving to the next "room," which was set as a bathroom. They both moved to the mirror and began pretending to get ready, Hermione brushing her teeth while George shaved.

"Well, now that that's taken care of, shall we entertain?" George hurried to the next display, which had a sitting room set up. They sat down on the leather sofa rather stiffly. George crinkled his nose. "I don't like this one. It feels like we should be smoking and talking about something pretentious." Hermione laughed and moved to the next couch. As soon as she sat, she sunk down into the cushions by about a foot. "And that one's no good," said George, chuckling. "We'll lose people in that one." They hurried to the next display and sat down. "I like this one," George said rather matter-of-factly.

"Of course you do. It looked almost exactly like my sitting room," said Hermione with a grin.

"Well, shall we check the bedroom?" George said in a deep voice, taking Hermione's hand in his. They moved forward into the next set and jumped onto the bed.

"OW!" Hermione shouted. She stood up immediately and rubbed her backside just as a security person came up.

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to-"

"I'm sorry, we're just leaving," she said hurriedly, grabbing George's hand and dragging him towards the exit. "Next time, check that there's a mattress under there," she hissed. George chuckled in response.

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_**JULY**_

"You ready to go?" George asked her.

"In just a moment," she said vaguely as she searched her room. "I'm looking for my-"

"Shoes?"

"No, my-"

"Hat?"

"Not that; my-"

"Shirt?"

Hermione could hear the wicked grin in his voice and turned around to mock-glare at him, her hands on her hips. "No. I found that a while ago."

"Do you want to lose it again?" he said with a wink, walking forwards and resting his hands low on her hips.

She blushed but maintained her disapproving look. "Raincheck."

"I'll hold you to it," he replied with a cheeky grin. "So what were you actually looking for?"

"My sunglass-" She stopped when she saw he was already holding them, along with the two other things he had mentioned.

"Come on! Let's go!" He hurried forward, dropped her shoes on the floor so she could slip them on, and then, holding her hand, spun on the spot. They landed in the middle of a field and they waded through the tall grass for a few minutes before ending up at a small clearing that had a picnic blanket and basket already waiting for them.

"What is this for?" she asked curiously.

"For you."

"No, I mean, what's the occasion?" There was no answer, as he ducked to spread out the blanket, and Hermione decided to drop the issue, although she was still curious.

They spent the afternoon enjoying their food and admiring the views, but as the sky began to darken, George pulled out a package from basket and began to unwrap it.

"I have some new fireworks I've developed and I wanted you to be the first to see them," he said excitedly as he finally unwrapped the brown paper and began to pull a few fireworks from the box. A moment later, he lit them and they shot into the sky. She ooh-ed and aah-ed as the fireworks went off in spectacular colors and clapped when they had ceased. "No no, they're not done. Keep watching."

She looked back up and gasped. In shimmering letters in the air, she read,

_Hermione Granger, will you marry me?_

She turned to George, stunned, to see that he was on his knee and was holding a box with a beautiful silver ring with three diamonds in the middle.

"I already got permission from your parents," he said quietly. She burst into tears and threw herself at him, knocking him to the ground as she kissed his cheeks and lips. "So is this a yes?" he asked.

She beamed at him. "Of course."

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_**OCTOBER**_

As George stood next to his brothers, who now included Harry, he smiled and tried to breathe normally, though his heart was going a mile a minute. _This was it._ He heard the music begin and turned to see Hermione walking down the aisle, her arm in her father's. He could not see her face for the veil, but her father raised it at the end of the walk and gave her a kiss on the cheek before turning to George.

"Take good care of my girl," said Mr. Granger quietly.

"I will, sir," George replied. He turned to Hermione, who was smiling nervously, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling.

"Are you ready?" he whispered as he took her hand, ignoring the little man who was now reading through the typical wedding speech.

"Of course," she whispered back, squeezing his hand.

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_**Hey guys! Don't forget to check out my new story, "Bert & Ernie." If you know the characters from Sesame Street and you read Chapter 1, you'll see why I titled it as such. Thanks so much for being wonderful readers and supporters!**_


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